


Wyllt

by likeasheep



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Myrddin, Myrddin Wyllt, Myrddin Wyllt/Arthur Pendragon, Myrddin/Arthur, Wyllt, Wyllt/Pendragon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-30 07:57:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 78,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5156141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeasheep/pseuds/likeasheep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Myrddin Wyllt wakes up in hospital, he can't remember his life. They say he was pulled from a fire that the police have been treating as suspicious. They tell him that he's an orphan, that his memory loss is strange, and that he is all alone in the world but for Gaius, a doctor who takes him in out of the kindness of his heart. And then he's attacked.</p><p>Complete!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Prologue

His bones creaked and his heart ached. He had seen the Elders a final time and had said his goodbyes for he was old now. He was so old and had been this way for so long that he barely remembered what it was to be young. His footsteps echoed as he made his slow way from the council chambers, the steps of his feet and the clunk of his staff making for a bastardised waltz that not even he could dance to. He had not told the Elders of his plan. Had the council been aware, they would have tried to stop him, for he had been their guide for longer than the memory of the living could possibly stretch. He had been there to assist wherever he could, had given advise, had seen them through the early days. This old man had seen their society built, had ensured their safety and conducted their every move. Yet for all that, he was an outsider. Always apart, always alone, none of them had ever really known who he was. There had been rumours, of course, for none could ever have existed for as long as he had. But rumours they remained.

Had he told them of his plan, they would have stopped him. Had he told himself, he might have tried to stop it, too. He was old now, and so tired. He was so alone, and fed up with waiting.

It had just been another little emergency, another pointless thing with which they needed guidance, and because he was kind, because he had always cared deeply for the foolish ones he had helped sustain for so many years, he had come to their aid once more.

There were rumblings below. The Elders were right to be worried, to be fearful, but the old man was tired. His back stooped with the weight of centuries of responsibility, of waiting until he felt near mad with it, and he sought release. Finally, it had become too much for him. The day he waited upon would never come, and surely, he had taught the Elders all he could. He had surely answered their every whim for long enough that they might survive alone. This threat, this looming presence in the darkness that had been making them uneasy for some years now, they ought to be able to handle it on their own, without him. Not that it mattered whether they could or not, for the old man with his creaking bones and wheezing, rattling breath would not be around to watch them if they fell.

He had given them some final advice before he left them. He had urged them to look to one another, had told them that magic may not always be the answer. And he had told a small lie, that he would see them at their next gathering.

The old warlock stood in the middle of the road, blinking blearily up at the bright lights of a city that would never know who he was or where he had come from. Nor would they care. Those that passed him by as he walked did not see him. Not because of some spell, no, it was not down to the work of magic, but rather to their own ignorance. He was no one. He did not matter to anyone. To the Elders, he was a commodity, something to be used and looked to when they needed help. To the mortals, he was invisible, for old men simply did not matter to them. He was sick of it. He was through with being ignored, with not truly mattering, with being unseen, of being a person of no consequence to the world at large. Of course, he could have revealed his true self to the Elders, but he knew with the wisdom of age that it would only secure his status as a commodity.

The disjointed waltz began once more as he made his way down one of the more poorly lit streets. There would be panic, he knew, when he did not arrive at the council chambers as he had promised he would. They would panic, but there would be nothing they could do about it for he had always ensured that they would never be able to summon him. He required some peace, after all, and now, he hoped to make that peace permanent. Weeks would pass, he knew, and they would come to terms with the reality that the old man who had seen that they were well looked after for so long was gone. They would accept it as truth, and, he hoped, would move on. It was his hope that they would follow his advice one last time, that they would seek the answers within their own community, that they would realise that they had not needed him for a long time. With luck, they would never know what had happened to the old man. And eventually, he would be but the word of legend once more.

A young man passed him on his way, and for the first time in many years, the old man was surprised.

"Are you alright?" came the unexpected question from one man to another, the yawning chasm of generations be damned.

The old man licked his lips, his grip on his staff whitening for brief moments as he tried to straighten himself some. It was a thankless task, for the young man's concerned expression only worsened. He took a breath that got caught up on its way in and rather than speak and offer any further need for worry, he inclined his head as an answer. He did not want to cry for help. He did not want help. It was his dearest wish that he succeed in his quest, and he would not be stopped now.

He had expected the young man to nod and be on his way. His expectations were disappointed when, rather than leaving him to his own devices, he instead produced a crumpled packet of tissues and offered one to the warlock.

Perhaps the old man had looked confused, for an explanation soon followed.

"You're crying," said the young man, still proffering the tissue expectantly.

"Am I?" the warlock questioned. It was not that he was surprised by his own tears. He had nerve endings, and he was aware that his emotions were ragged and that his mood was low tonight. Of course he had known that he had been crying. What he had not known was that it might matter to anyone but himself.

"…can I get anything for you? Can I call anyone?" asked the young man when the tissue he'd offered remained untaken and unused. The old man watched as his outstretched hand faltered and dropped back to his side.

"There is nothing you can do for me," he told him. He wasn't sure that he would have been able to accept any assistance had he wanted it, it had been so long since he had been seen as human and flawed enough to require it.

"Are you sure?"

Long moments passed as the old man looked intently into the unexpectedly kind face before him.

"Good evening," said the old warlock finally, rather than respond in the way that might have been anticipated. He cleared his throat and bowed his head once more, and the young man, assuming that he had been dismissed, let him be. He was unused to random acts of kindness, was far more familiar with being overlooked.

But this young man with the dark hair and sharp blue eyes had seen him. He had seen him without looking straight through him. He had seen him as a person who mattered enough that he had offered help with no ulterior motive in sight. The warlock had long forgotten what it meant to be seen as human. He had been so caught in the memories of what had been that he had ceased to live.

As he looked on, the young man crossed the road without looking to first check that it was safe. The young were foolish, but lucky, in this instance. At this time of night, the quiet street just outside of the city was bereft of moving vehicles. Well, almost. A police car drove past as the warlock's brief companion arrived at his front door and cast one final look back at him.

It only served to cement his decision, he thought, as he watched the young man disappear into what could only be his home, the lights within flickering on as he passed from room to room.

This empty existence had gone on for far too long now. It was time to be selfish. Time that he thought of himself and of no one else, that he did as he pleased for a change. It was time he drop his responsibility and allow himself to rest, to experience peace and to sleep without dreams. It was time he left the memories behind that made sure he always woke to a gaping void inside. It was time he left the guilt that had made him devote his long life to others, too. Time he stopped waiting. His situation would never change. He knew that now. In truth, he had known it for some time, but he was as foolish as he was ancient. It was time that he stop hoping. That he stop longing for things to change, for while he was invisible, while he did not matter, that did not mean that he did not still feel. That he did not still wish and hope, but perhaps that had been his downfall. Perhaps he ought have done this sooner, but it had only been of late that he had decided he could not carry on.

The warlock did not know how much time passed as he stood in the street, watching the home of the only mortal to have truly seen him in many years. With his advanced age, hours could pass in what seemed only a few breaths, and when the dark outside remained dark and there was no other sign of the passage of time to be had, he could only really guess.

Eventually, when near all the lights in the house had gone out, he saw the twitch of a curtain from upstairs, saw a pair of blue eyes looking down on him.

His time was finally over.


	2. Chapter One: The Hospital

Chapter One

The Hospital

The first thing he heard were the regular beeps of a machine. Evenly spaced, they were soothing, almost rhythmic. He tried to open his eyes, but it was too much to ask, it seemed, for they remained shut. There were vague, indistinct voices to be heard, somewhere at the blurry edges of his mind, though if he concentrated, they became louder, as though he weren't simply imagining them.

"The police are waiting outside again, doctor," one voice said, a woman's.

"We shall have to tell them that he isn't awake," said another, this time a man.

"They said they're treating the fire as suspicious."

"They think he set it himself?"

"I don't think so, but they want to talk to him," the girl said.

The man hummed briefly before she spoke again.

"Gaius, who is he?" she asked, and there was movement, something being lifted, pages being turned.

"All we have is the name on the identification he was carrying. Lucky for us, I suppose, but aside from a name on a card, he is no one. No friends have come to look for him, the police have located his records such as they are, no criminal activity, no, but they found traces of him in the care system. He has no family. And now, he has no home," the doctor, Gaius, said, and his voice sounded as though it were sorry for the one they were discussing. "He has suffered some smoke inhalation, but there is no reason he should have been unconscious for this long. Gwen, I want you to organise a MRI scan for me, please. And if you can bring up the medical history again, it would be useful, please. We've tried glucose, but I'd like to try him on antibiotics now, in case there is an infection we might have missed," he said. Some rustling could be heard, and a presence approached the bed when, with no warning, there were fingers tugging at his eyelid and exposing his eyes to the bright, near blinding light of a thin torch. He winced, trying to close his eyes to the light as the indistinct silhouette of a man froze above him.

"Welcome back, Mr. Wyllt," the man said.

He opened his other eye slowly, squinting up, grateful that the doctor was blocking the majority of the brightness in the room as he stood over him.

He opened his mouth to speak, to ask who Mr. Wyllt was, but his mouth was dry, as though he'd not drunk in years. He closed his mouth again, trying to swallow, to speak, but all that could leave him was the hint of a rough whisper. He lacked the ability to make any sound at all. Luckily, the doctor appeared to be competent enough that he saw the problem before it could get any worse.

"Gwen, the water, please," he said, holding out his hand expectantly without taking his eyes from his patient. The nurse moved quickly, filling a glass from a jug on the bedside table, placing a straw that seemed to have come from nowhere into the glass, then handing it all over. Still, the doctor did not remove his gaze from that of the man who had been unconscious for a month now. He looked both curious and concerned as he held the straw to his patient's chapped lips, instructing him to drink, but to take small sips, now.

The man in the hospital bed did as he was told, for he had no reason not to. He wondered who these people were. They were a doctor and a nurse, yes, and he supposed must be in hospital, but he couldn't remember how he had come to be here. He furrowed his brows together, closing his eyes for a moment as he tried to recall, as he tried to think about what had happened, but in the space where there might have been memory, there was nothing. He couldn't remember.

He swallowed, opening his eyes, he wanted to take another drink because he was so thirsty, but the doctor was taking the water away, and the nurse was setting it down, and they probably knew best, but he so desperately needed to drink, he was so dehydrated that he felt near dizzy with it, but perhaps that was also down to the effort he'd spent in trying to reach into the fuzzy, dark depths of his own mind. Why couldn't he remember?

"Now, what were you trying to say?" the doctor asked, sitting on the very edge of the bed and leaning in close that he could hear him when he next attempted speech.

"Who…" the patient swallowed again, closed his eyes again, and tried to gather the jumble in his head long enough to form his question. His voice was quiet, so quiet that whenever the pulse of the machine's beeps interjected, his words were lost. "Who is—" he took a breath, the effort of speaking after so long asleep almost too much for him to bear. "Mr. Wyllt?" he finally managed to gasp out, training his gaze on the doctor because he would have the answer, whatever it may have been.

As it turned out, it was the nurse who spoke, interrupting the old doctor without perhaps meaning to do so.

"You are," she said, sounding so utterly convinced of this fact that he was forced to listen, to consider that she may well be telling the truth. "That is, you had your wallet on you when you escaped the fire," she fumbled with something on the bedside table, something just out of his field of vision, and he didn't want to turn his head to follow her. As it turned out, he didn't have to.

"What fire?" he began to ask as the nurse handed him a brown wallet made of leather that he was entirely too weak to hold. His grip just seemed nonexistent.

"Guinevere," chided the doctor gently as he took the wallet from where it had dropped to the bedsheets. Moments passed before he produced a card from inside, and this, rather than attempt having him hold anything again, was placed where he could see it with ease.

It was a driver's licence. A little pink card that declared the holder could apparently drive both car and motorbike. There was a small photograph of a man in black and white. He was a bit strange looking. Sharp, high cheekbones and a shock of barely wavy, dark hair beneath which sat a pair of ears as big as they came, the man was not obviously handsome, but he certainly looked friendly, approachable, even. Beside the photo, there were words. The name of the man. The first line read 'Wyllt', and the second read 'Myrddin'. Myrddin Wyllt. The name belonged to the man in the photograph. From what the nurse had said, that name belonged to him.

"Is this me?" he asked, confused, looking up at the sympathetic nurse, then down at the card again. He couldn't even begin to fathom how to pronounce the name it claimed as his own. "Meer— Meerdin?" he asked, looking up, desperate for help, for anything that might aid him now. He looked back at the photograph. Was that really what he looked like? He brought up a hand to touch the shell of his ear, to feel the height of his cheekbone, and then down where he discovered hair on his face that he couldn't see in the photograph. He wondered how long he'd been here for.

"Mer-thin," supplied the doctor, speaking the word slowly. He looked worried now, but the patient was more concerned with repeating his own name.

"Guinevere," he said, looking away from Myrddin long enough to address her. "I am concerned that the time Mr. Wyllt has spent unconscious is to blame for his apparent memory loss. If you could call down to radiology for me and schedule the MRI scan, please," he said.

The nurse gave a quick nod, went to a door painted as white as the rest of the too-bright room, opened the door to the corridor beyond, and left.

Myrddin caught a brief glimpse of uniformed men, saw her exchange words that seemed to hold authority behind them. Then the door closed.

"The police have been waiting for you to wake up for some time now, but I think that an hour or two more shan't hurt them," the doctor said with a warm smile.

Somehow, in spite of the confusion, in spite of the edge of panic that he didn't know who he was, it made Myrddin feel safe.

"Look straight ahead for me," he said, and the torch was out again, shining into his eyes. First one, then the other. "As I thought," he said at length, sitting back and looking at his patient with renewed interest.

"What did you think?"

"Your eyes are blue," said the doctor, and before he could ask what he meant by that, the nurse, Sister Guinevere, he supposed, had returned to the room.

"They're ready for him downstairs," she said.

"What did you mean, my eyes are blue?" Myrddin asked the doctor. His voice seemed to be coming back to itself now. Still rough, still with the edge of breathlessness, but audible. His efforts were rewarded with another smile.

"I mean to say that when you awoke, for just a moment, I thought they might have been gold."

* * *

The experience of an MRI scan was not one that Myrddin wished to ever have again. One would assume that he was quite good at lying very still after his time spent unconscious, but there was something about lying down in the near claustrophobic confines of the scanner that made him long to fidget. Thankfully, really, he was still too weak for that sort of thing.

As for the results of the scan, well, he could hear the frustrated murmuring that sounded the tiniest bit relieved, too, as he lay there silently waiting.

Everything, as far as the doctor could see, was perfect. There was no real reason that Myrddin Wyllt should be experiencing this level of memory loss. As he was helped out of the machine and into the wheelchair until such a time as his strength returned enough that he could walk, he was told that as far as they could tell, the memory loss would only be temporary, that it was as they had thought.

They wheeled him to the lift, then back to the ward and room where, he was told, he had spent the last month alone but for the care they had been giving him.

One of the police officers stopped them before they could wheel him inside, but the doctor interrupted before they could speak.

"He will be no use to you. He can hardly remember his own name."

"He can hardly say his own name," Gwen said, leaving their patient to frown, embarrassed at his own shortcomings whether he could help them or not.

"We have some information to be going with, but not enough. And even if he can't give us anything, he's a right to know what we're doing to find the one responsible for his being laid up here," the officer said.

It was with a sigh that the doctor agreed and allowed a single police officer into the room with them.

"Mr. Wyllt," the officer began, removing his hat once Myrddin had been settled back in his bed. "As you may know, you narrowly escaped with your life from a fire that began in your home. We've reason to believe that the fire was no accident, given the place it began, and the pattern of spread. For now, we've just one suspect, although we're having trouble finding him. This man," he removed a photograph from his pocket and passed it to Myrddin who managed to grasp it between his fingers, "Was seen outside your home on the night of the fire by more than one squad car. We're looking for him now. It's lucky you live in a city, mind, or there'd have been no trace of him on the CCTV."

"If you caught him setting the fire on camera, why is he only a suspect?"

"That's the thing," the officer said to the nurse, ignoring Myrddin for a moment, but it didn't matter, really, given that he had no answers. "Something happened to the cameras in the area that night, we think they were disabled somehow, but we managed to retrieve this image from the system, thankfully. We've officers out looking for him as we speak."

"…why are you searching for him?" Myrddin asked as he looked down at the grainy photograph of an old man with long, white hair. He wore layers upon layers of clothing, and carried a staff, it looked like, though the image was blurred. It could have just been a walking stick. There was something about the old man, something that he could not place, and the more he tried to think about it, the further it slipped away. Perhaps he had known him before. Before the fire.

"We've reason to believe he wanted you dead. Whoever this man is, and we've been unable to name him yet in spite of appeals to the public, he went to a great deal of trouble to ensure that he was not caught. We believe he did not work alone, that he had assistance in setting the fire, given his advanced years. We're looking for him, but since we don't know his motive for attempting to kill you, and we have no way of knowing what your relationship may have been to this man, we're going to leave one of my colleagues on the ward for now with your personal safety in mind, just in case."

He could hardly believe his ears. How was it that he had managed to land himself an enemy so terrible that they had wanted to kill him? He couldn't remember his friends, if he had any, much less any enemies. It seemed, though, that whatever association he'd had with the old man they were looking for, it had ended badly. Badly enough that he had wanted him dead. He wondered what he had done to deserve that.

"May I keep this?" he asked the officer of the photograph. A nod was the answer, and he was glad for it. While he did not relish the idea of holding onto an image of his would-be killer, it would help him, he hoped. He would at least be able to identify the old man if he came after him again. If he realised that he had not succeeded. And perhaps the vague sense of familiarity he felt at seeing it would fade to understanding and memory of just what he had done to have someone hate him that much.

"That's enough now, please," said the doctor rather abruptly, gesturing to the door. "Mr. Wyllt cannot help you. Can you not see that he is distressed enough as it is without you telling him that someone was out to get him? Hm?"

It was a rare thing to see an officer of the law looking thoroughly chastised, but it truly was a sight to behold. Guinevere thought as much, it seemed, for she hardly managed to hide her smile in time.

As the police officer left the room and the nurse helped him drink again, Myrddin tried to go over all that had happened in his mind. But what did he really know? What did he really have? A wallet and a name, it seemed, and the knowledge that someone had been out to get him. And not only that, but it seemed he had not a friend in the world, either. Perhaps he had been a terrible man, or surely, someone would have noticed that he had nearly died. Although, hadn't they said he had been an orphan? Perhaps he had only recently moved to the city, and with no family, he had simply lost touch with his friends? He could only hope that it was a thing like that.

"What happens now?" he wanted to know. He looked to the doctor who had apparently been expecting the question.

"Well, once you have regained your strength, you will be free to leave. Given the nature of your memory loss, you ought to begin remembering things over the coming weeks," the older man said, seating himself on the edge of Myrddin's bed once more. It was a familiar action, and friendly besides. He liked it, he thought.

"But where do I go?" he found himself asking. He needed an answer. "I don't… I can hardly remember my own name, and if what they said is true, then the place I lived in is nothing more than a ruin now."

The doctor's expression softened at that, and he reached to clasp his patient's hand. "I should like to be able to keep an eye on you, Myrddin. As your doctor, I feel a sense of responsibility for you. And for that, it would be best that you not stray too far…" he fell quiet for a moment, deep in thought before releasing the young man's hand. "Yes, that will do well," he said, standing, apparently decided. "I will call Alice, and have her wash the guest room's bedding. Given that you've no family to call your own, and should not be left alone with the extent of memory loss you appear to be suffering, it would be best that you stay with us."

It was more than Myrddin could have hoped for. The devastating revelations of the day had come blow by blow and here, finally, was some light. Someone who wanted to help him.

"Really?" he asked, the hint of a smile reaching his face for the first time since he had woken up. He fidgeted slightly where he sat up in bed, excited and hopeful all at once.

"Really. Once I think you safe to leave the hospital, you can come and stay with us."

Myrddin barely refrained from embracing the man. Instead, he settled on beaming from apparently oversized ear to ear.

"Thank you, doctor," he said as he watched the medic make his way to the door, relieved that he did not have to worry about what he would do next, at least. Relieved that there was someone who seemed to care.

"Please, call me Gaius."


	3. Chapter Two: The Doctor's Wife

Chapter Two

The Doctor's Wife

His recovery was not swift. It was another week before Gaius finally declared Myrddin recovered enough to leave the hospital. By the time he left, however, he could walk again without feeling light headed. That in itself was a triumph to him, and while he could still remember nothing of his past, he felt hopeful for the future. While he had no one, while there was no family for him to go back to, the doctor had offered him a place with his. It may have only been temporary, until his memory returned, but the kindness he had been shown was not something he would ever forget in a hurry.

On his final day in the hospital, Sister Guinevere, who had made a point of being there for every step of his recovery so far, entered the room he had been moved to with a duffel bag in hand.

"Your clothes were burned," she told him as she unpacked the contents, holding them up where he could see them before placing them down on the bed. "And you've been in hospital gowns since, so Gaius borrowed these from his friend's son. He asked me to fetch them to you. He also said that even if they don't fit, it won't matter since they only need to get you home."

His smile was shy, but he thanked Gwen with as tight a hug as he dared to give her. She had been so good to him, too. He knew it was her job, but he was convinced that she would not have done so much for him if she hadn't cared. He may have had no friends visit him, but he felt as though he'd made some now.

And he really did like spending time with the nurse. She'd chatted to him day after day, telling him about anything and everything. Gaius had told her that she ought to update him on the news, on what was going on in the wider world, that it would serve him better than anything else, but it had been plain to Myrddin that she had quickly grown bored of reporting on the frequently miserable and tragic, bad things that seemed to always be the subject matter of what was going on in the world. After a day or two in which Gwen had done her level best to keep him abreast of current events, her patient had finally taken pity on her. After all, as interesting as it may have been, he wasn't exactly thrilled to hear of people going missing, for whether he knew them or not, he felt almost responsible, in a way. Like he ought to have done something to help them. But what could he do? Nothing, that was what. It was easier not to hear.

"I saw you smiling at the police officer," Myrddin had said on the second day with something of a cheeky grin as Guinevere had been helping him out of bed. From then on, whenever the nurse had told Gaius that she was indeed talking to their patient about current events, what she actually meant was that she was updating him on all the latest gossip to do with her love life, and honestly, that suited Myrddin very well. They formed a fast friendship that mainly involved giggling and wondering at the fact that the police officer who had spoken to them that first day was the one who had volunteered to stay in the hospital, day after day. While he was officially there for Myrddin's protection, that did not stop him trying his best to speak with Sister Guinevere each time she happened past him any more than it prevented him from introducing himself as Police Constable Lancelot du Lac.

"I think PC du Lac is quite sad to see me go, you know," Myrddin said conversationally as he took the clothes he had been offered. He wasn't shy. Gwen was a nurse, first and foremost, and she had effectively seen everything he had to offer very early on. Even with his strength returned, she insisted on helping him dress himself.

"And what makes you say that?" she asked as she helped him into a pair of black jeans that were just a bit too baggy on him. The strength in his hands had come back to him with careful stretching and clenching of them each day, and while it was slow going, he managed to win in his battle with the fastening on them all by himself.

"Well, he won't be able to stare at you all day and strike up conversation about the colour of the floor just so he can talk to you!"  
Gwen let out a breath, eyes narrowed playfully as she swatted at him gently.

"He has not spoken to me about the colour of the floor," she protested, though she was smiling all the same as she shook her head at him fondly.

"Well, maybe he's holding that one back so he has something to say the next time he sees you," Myrddin said, laughing when Guinevere swatted at him again, this time with the red jumper he'd been given to wear instead of just her hand. It wasn't painful, but it was a big thing to be hit with, and it had Myrddin's hair standing up on end and it didn't stop him laughing at her, either. Well, he was laughing at the PC, really. It was sweet, how desperately he seemed to be vying for the nurse's attention, and what was even sweeter was that Guinevere, while receptive to the attention, didn't seem to understand that the police officer wanted to do more than just talk to her. Even Myrddin who had never had any sort of attention in his life, as far as he could remember, could see it. And it was just sweet.

He pulled the jumper on over his head, got it past his ears with Gwen's help, and then it was just a case of pulling on the socks he'd been given. "These are very pink," he commented, wriggling his toes in them before giving a shrug and pulling on the boots that were, he'd been told, the ones he'd been wearing when he had been found. There was only so much that he could borrow.

"I think pink suits you," she told him as he pulled the boots onto his feet and up over the bottoms of the jeans.

"I will see you again, won't I?" he wanted to know. He didn't know that he could bear to lose this new friend he'd made. Between her and Gaius, he had begun to feel as though his life was not the void it had seemed to be when he had first woken up without a clue as to who he was.

"Of course you will. I'll come and see you whenever I can."

"You will?"

"I promise. And I don't break my promises."

"You'll have to bring PC du Lac, too."

"Why would I do that?" she asked, and how she could be so naïve when Myrddin was supposed to be the one ignorant of his own life was beyond him.

"Well, I'll still need protecting. Obviously."

He had said it in jest, but once the words had left him, he felt almost chilled. He really did need protection. He may not know why, but someone had tried to kill him. The fire had been no accident, and the police even had a suspect. There was very real danger out there for him, somewhere.

"I expect," he said, "That if you tell him you'll be visiting me once I've left hospital, Police Constable du Lac'll sign on for my protection detail until they've caught him. It'll give him a good excuse to see you again." That was a new thing he had discovered about himself. He rambled when he was nervous. Gaius had said a few days ago that he ought to look on the lighter side of the fire and feel somewhat fortunate for this time without his memory. It allowed him to quite literally learn new things every day, even if they were just about himself.

"Whatever you say, Myrddin," said Guinevere as she handed him the wallet that had been found with him, then stepped back.

"Will I do?" he asked her. He wanted to make a good impression on Gaius' wife. After all, they had offered him their home, and with it, a family, some way to begin again when he had been reduced to nothing by the actions of another. He did not want them to regret it.

"You'll do," said the nurse with an entirely fond smile.

Myrddin would miss not seeing her every day, of that he could be certain.

They left the room together, and Guinevere was waylaid almost immediately by the police officer who had been waiting for this very moment. Really, he was meant to accompany Myrddin to Gaius' home where another officer would be assigned to watch over him. He had expected the officer waylay the nurse in the corridor, leaving his charge to go on ahead which was quite alright, really. While he held nothing long term such as who he was and where he came from in his mind, his short term memory had proved to be remarkable in the tests they had conducted. He knew his way around the hospital well enough by now, and finding his way to the entrance where he had agreed to meet the doctor would have been no problem.

As it turned out, he didn't have to. Gwen walked with him, and PC du Lac walked before them both. Myrddin supposed that it only made sense, really, given that the two reasons, both business and pleasure, for the officer's being stationed at the hospital in the first place were on the move.

Gaius was stood at the entrance to the hospital, looking a little bit worse for wear, a little bit tired, but it was only to be expected when he had been on call all night. When he had decided it time that Myrddin was well enough to leave, he had scheduled his shifts that he could have this day off to get him settled at home. Just thinking about it was enough to have Myrddin smiling like a fool.

"And what are you so happy about?" the doctor wanted to know when his patient stopped before him.

"Everything that you're doing for me. It means the world. It really does."

"Well, don't thank me yet. You've not tried Alice's cooking."

Myrddin laughed.

* * *

As it turned out, Alice's cooking was no laughing matter. A window was being opened through which smoke poured when Gaius pulled the car up outside the cottage. Parking the pale pink 2CV that had seemed rather like a rickety deathtrap to Myrddin on the gravel drive, the first thing Gaius did was wave to the rather excited looking face in the window when the smoke began to clear.

"Is something on fire?" Myrddin asked as he unbuckled his seatbelt and they each climbed from the vehicle. Though he realised it was a stupid question. The kindly woman in the window wouldn't have been smiling nor beckoning them inside had that been the case.

"I think that will be the cake Alice said she was going to bake for you," Gaius said, keeping his tone as neutral as he could. He gestured to the young man to go inside, then made his way to the boot of the car from which he pulled his bag of medical equipment. Myrddin was fairly sure that some of its contents were as old as he was, but he knew nothing, really, and was not one to judge besides.

He did as he'd been bid and went to knock on the cottage door which, of course, opened before his knuckles could even come in contact with the yellow-painted wood.

"You must be Myrddin!" said the woman, Alice, who dragged him down into a hug before he could even confirm his identity. She was shorter than he'd thought, shorter than her large, cheerful personality suggested, and Myrddin had to bend so she could hold him, but he didn't mind that much at all. The hug was filled with warmth and unconditional affection that he'd done nothing to deserve, really. He didn't mind needing to stoop for that.

"Well, go in, will you," said Gaius' voice from behind them, "This bag is very heavy, and I don't see either of you carrying it for me," he said, a complaint with no real force behind it, but before he could fuss any more, Alice had whisked Myrddin into the cottage, leaving the doctor to enter unobstructed and at his own pace.

Their home, at present, was filled with something like a haze of smoke with the undeniable scent of burnt caramel hanging in the smog. But for that, it felt like a place to call home. There was a living room filled with plush armchairs, and a sofa draped with a patchwork quilt, beyond which there was the kitchen. This was, without a doubt, the place responsible for the state of the rest of the cottage.

"Here, sit down, you must be hungry," Alice said. She sat Myrddin down at the dining table and had vanished off into the hazy smoke without waiting for his answer. He would be fed whether he liked it or not. He found himself smiling in spite of the warning Gaius had given about his wife's cooking.

The doctor joined them a few minutes later. He had changed from his work clothes into something more casual and was in the process of looking through a small notebook when he walked in. He put the book down on the kitchen table, then followed his wife into the haze. The sound of a slow-boiling kettle followed.

"Arthur phoned?" Gaius asked.

"Yes, he said he would be popping by later on," replied Alice. "I'm quite happy that he's coming, really. It will give Myrddin a chance to meet people his own age rather than being permanently stuck with old fogies all his life, won't it?"

Gaius hummed his agreement as his wife emerged from the depths of the kitchen carrying a plate on which was a roughly trimmed cake. There were still patches on it that were black and burned, and beneath where she'd carved off the worst, the cake was pale and dry looking, but that didn't stop Myrddin feeling touched that she had gone to so much trouble for him. The easy way these two were around each other, and the way they happily accepted him into their lives had him feeling filled to the brim with gratitude.

She cut him a slice of the cake, a large one at his own request, and Gaius brought over the pot of tea along with cups, saucers, milk, sugar and teaspoons, all on a tray. Then he left them for just long enough to open up another window.

"Now, Myrddin," Alice said once they'd sat down to tea, straight to the point she had clearly been sitting on since first she had seen their new house guest, "This beard of yours. Will it be a permanent feature, do you think?"

He blinked for a moment or two. His appearance, beyond the initial shock of the photo on his driver's licence, was not a thing he had been thinking of.

"I don't…" he began, but was interrupted before he could continue by the clang of the doorbell.

"That will be Arthur," the doctor's wife said chirpily as she left the table and went to answer the door, "My love, get another cup, will you?"

Seeing the confusion on Myrddin's face, the only thing Gaius had to offer was a quirked brow and a wry smile.

Myrddin couldn't help it. He laughed. Then Gaius laughed and neither of them fetched a new cup, and it was to this round of giggles that Alice returned with the guest she had been expecting.


	4. Chapter Three: The Attack

Chapter Three 

The Attack

Arthur was blonde. And rude. He seemed content to say absolutely nothing to Myrddin, though whenever he looked up, he caught Arthur staring at him. He swallowed imperceptibly, then looked down at the hot cup of tea that had been placed before him, self-conscious.

"I see you've picked up a stray," the blonde man commented as he sat opposite Myrddin at the round, wooden table. He leant back in his chair as though he owned the building, shooting a smile in Alice's direction when she gave him a plate of cake, but then he turned his gaze back to Myrddin again, his expression impassive once more. As though Myrddin were nothing to him. Though that couldn't have been the case, really, given how his gaze was boring into him with every passing moment.

"Myrddin is the young man I was speaking with you about, Arthur," Gaius said, his voice kind and patient.

"Coma boy?" the blonde asked, arrogance written all over his face. Myrddin tried his best not to bristle.

"That's him," Alice said brightly before Gaius could respond, before Myrddin could protest such a title from someone he'd never met. Unless, of course, he did know him.

"Do I know you?" Myrddin had to ask, voicing his confusion for the first time. After all, he could see no reason why he should be all but glared at unless Arthur recognised him from somewhere.

"I've never met you before in my life."

"Oh." He frowned, looking carefully at the blonde man, wondering if he were telling the truth, for he could see no other point in the glares being sent his way unless Arthur really did know him. Perhaps he had done something to wrong him before.

"Arthur is the one who leant you the clothes, Myrddin," Gaius said before the awkward exchange could go any further.

"Yes, I came 'round to ask for them back," said Arthur, his gaze focused on the man opposite him.

Myrddin looked down at himself, at the red jumper and black jeans that were just a bit too big. Well, that explained the sense of familiarity he had felt. The sharp, fresh scent of soap that had cut through when the blonde had walked in was the same as the one attached to the clothes he'd been leant.

"Well, I can't give you them now," he said, frowning slightly and gesturing at the fact that he was still wearing the things.

"Can't you?" Arthur asked, and there was a smirk on his face as he looked at the man in his clothes, and there was something unnerving about it, something that had Myrddin's cheeks grow red.

"No," he said emphatically. His face felt hot, and he scowled at the feeling of embarrassment he had been reduced to. "I don't have any other clothes."

"So?"

Before Myrddin's face could turn any more crimson than it was already, Alice swooped in and saved him.

"Arthur, I was just saying to Myrddin that he really ought to sort out that interesting… thing on his face," she said, being as tactful as she could while miming stroking an imaginary beard on her own chin, "Would you take him out for me? It will give me enough time to sort dinner. You can even see if you can't find him some clothes of his own if you're so desperate to have yours back."

Actually, Alice swooped in and made it worse.

"Alright," Arthur agreed with ease, his smirk still in place when he looked at Myrddin, but the moment he glanced at Alice, his expression was all sweetness and light, as though he hadn't just been behaving strangely. "I'll take him off your hands for an hour or two," he said. "Who knows, maybe he'll even scrub up better."

Myrddin frowned, wondering just what that had to do with anything and why it was that Arthur sounded as though he liked the idea.

"It's not my fault your clothes don't fit me," he said quietly, ignoring it when Arthur laughed at him.

"Well, off with you!" the doctor's wife said, somehow managing to whisk them away to the front door before they had done so much as blink. Myrddin, to his eternal sorrow, hadn't even managed to have a bite of cake yet.

Before Alice shut the door on them, she reached for a purse that sat atop the telephone table. From it, she took a few notes and folded them into Myrddin's protesting hands. "Get yourself a razor and some clothes, please," she instructed. Then the yellow door was slammed shut and Myrddin was left standing on the gravel drive with a man who'd barely taken his eyes off him since they'd met. Unnerving wasn't the word. But Gaius hadn't discouraged this. He obviously knew Arthur well, or he'd not have asked him for his clothes. He'd not have trusted him to be out with Myrddin. So really, he wasn't in any real danger, even if the blonde did seem a little bit odd. He must have been safe, or he'd not have been sent away. He looked down at the notes in his hands. He couldn't help but feel guilty.

Hadn't he seen a bank card in his wallet, when he'd looked through it for some clues as to who he had been before? He opened the wallet as Arthur stood beside him, not so subtly sighing with his irritation at the fact that they weren't leaving yet. He put the notes away first in the front, so he'd know not to use them if he could, then pushed a few cards aside until he found the one he was looking for. A folded square of paper fluttered out at the same time, and before he'd noticed it, Arthur had caught it from the air, reflexes quicker than anyone Myrddin had ever known, but then, he'd not technically known many people really, had he? Trying not to be impressed, he turned over the card in his hands. It was his. Just like his licence, it bore his name and the bank from which it had come.

"Why did you write your pin down?" asked the blonde at his side as he looked down at the paper that he had taken the liberty of unfolding. He held it up so that Myrddin could see it. Scrawled there was the word 'pin' and a number; '1234'. Obvious, really. Still, Myrddin frowned. Why would he have done that?

"Maybe I used to be forgetful," he said, quiet as he took the number from him. "Can I access my account with this?" he wanted to know, looking up to see Arthur's face.

"Anyone could access your bank account with that," he told him.

He decided not to dwell on it for long. Even if there wasn't much money in his account, it would surely be better than nothing, and he'd not feel quite so guilty as he had done. He wouldn't have to take the money Alice had given him. He didn't want to leach off them. They were already giving him free use of their home.

"Well, I'd like to go to this place first. Please," he said, looking to the blonde with hope in his eyes. "If I have any money, I'd like to be able to use it. I can't just take from them, not if I can help it. I know you don't like me much, but they've done so much for me already. If I took money, even if she gave it to me, I'd feel like I was taking advantage. It's the last thing I want to do."

"Alright," Arthur said at length, and there was something new in his eyes, a kind of appreciation, it could have been. "We'll go to your bank first."

* * *

Myrddin stared at his bank balance. That couldn't be right.

Arthur was stood off to one side, waiting impatiently for him to be finished. He had stood there and helped to start with, explained that it was as easy as following the directions on the screen, and then, he'd stood aside, saying the contents of the other man's account were none of his business.

"Is there anything?" the blonde asked.

Clearing his throat, Myrddin wondered just how to answer that question.

"There's something," he finally settled on as he stared at the figure on the ATM's screen. The number was, and he dearly wished he could think of a better word for it, but the only one that he could come up with was that it was frankly enormous. To have so much money it made his jaw drop, he had to have had a job, didn't he? It wouldn't have been inheritance, given that he had apparently grown up in an orphanage. To have money like this, he must have been saving it for a long time. He so wished he could remember. Perhaps this money had something to do with the reason behind the fire. Perhaps it had something to do with the old man. He let out a breath and pressed the button for £100, thinking that would be enough. It seemed like a nice, well rounded number, and it ought to make sure that he didn't have to touch the money Alice had given him. Thankfully, he could be self-sufficient on this front, at least.

"Are you done?"

Tucking the notes that most definitely belonged to him away into his wallet and sliding his card in after them, Myrddin pocketed the lot, then moved to join the other man.

"I took out £100," he confided in him, not yet noticing the pair of great, hulking figures a few feet away from the ATM. To be fair to him, Arthur hadn't noticed them either.

"…why?"

"I thought it would just be enough."

"Myrddin, is there actually something wrong with you?"

"Aside from the amnesia? I don't know, because I don't remember," he said, and perhaps he was a little bit short with Arthur, but the other man seemed to have no sense of compassion. Really, Myrddin had been spoilt by what had been shown to him by Gaius and Guinevere, but that was beside the point. He began walking. He didn't know the way, didn't know where he was, but the feeling of not knowing was one that he had begun to get used to now.

Footsteps were fast behind him, and then the blonde was at his side again.

"There's no need for you to get in a little huff, you know. I was only joking."

"A joke is only funny if someone laughs. Even I know that."

They walked in silence for a while. He had stomped off in a huff, it was true, but he wasn't about to admit to it. He didn't understand Arthur, and that was his problem. He was strange and bullying yet wouldn't leave Myrddin alone, as though he cared what happened to him.

They'd ended up down an alleyway after he'd stamped off, and there had been a woman walking with her hood pulled up ahead, but when Myrddin looked again, he saw that she'd vanished. Still, he thought nothing of it as they made their way through now, their steps bouncing off the close walls and back to them.

Except there seemed to be too many footsteps.

"It's not my fault you've no sense of humour, Myrddin," said Arthur, pronouncing his name effortlessly enough that it made Myrddin's eyes narrow at him. It was almost as though he'd known that he'd been unable to say his own name to start with, like he was rubbing that in his face along with everything else.

He'd been about to respond, to say that he was sure he did have a sense of humour because Guinevere had spent an awful lot of time laughing with and at him in the hospital, so that couldn't have been right. Instead, he found himself crinkling his nose as they were assaulted by a stench that very nearly had him retching, it was so bad. He covered his mouth with his hands, frowning, supposing they were just walking through a particularly bad patch of the alleyway.

"Can you smell that?" Arthur asked at his side, and his face, which had been handsome enough so far, was now contorted in something like disgust.

"Something's wrong," Myrddin said. He didn't know how he knew it, nor how he had even known what to do, but he shoved at Arthur, sending the blonde colliding with the brick wall opposite even as his own back hit the other, and in that instant, something wooden with metal spikes emerging at odd angles from it was thrown between them.

It fell to the ground a few feet away, and immediately, Myrddin was struck by the sheer size of it. It looked like it had once been the leg of a table that had been torn off, for the ends of it were splintered and ragged. And then he realised that someone must have thrown it. He turned a panicked gaze in the direction it had come from and saw them.

Myrddin was still against the wall he'd thrown himself at, all but frozen to the spot, but Arthur was up and hurling abuse at the would-be attackers, asking what they thought they were doing, that they could have hurt someone. And maybe that was just what they'd wanted. Someone had already tried to kill Myrddin. And the police had said that the old man hadn't been working alone.

They were advancing. Hulking figures, the pair of them, one carrying a second weapon that he didn't want to look at, they towered over the two men, enough so that Myrddin had to crane his head back just to be able to see them. He immediately wished that he hadn't tried. For these things, whatever they were, can't have been human. They were dressed in red, in clothes that looked as though they'd been strung together out of anything that had been to hand, and their skin was grey and cracked in places, almost as though made of stone. Their eyes, what he could see of them, glowed a sickly, dull green.

He went cold, watching mutely as one approached slowly, its steps rocking the ground beneath them as it hefted the weapon in its clumsy hands, lifting it slowly, as though to strike, and Arthur, the absolute idiot, was still there, cursing at them, telling them to back off before someone got hurt.

He didn't think Arthur could see them. At least, not properly, or surely, he'd be running by now, because there was no doubt in his mind that they were the ones who would be hurt here.

He scrambled into action, and for just a moment, it was as though time were slowing, as though he could move faster than he ever had before. The thing that was lifting its club to harm them had slowed, but Myrddin could pay it no mind. He wrapped a hand about Arthur's wrist, intending to pull him out of the way before he could be struck, and in that moment, as time seemed to return to normal, he saw fear on the blonde's face for the first time.

"Oh, shit—" he gasped, eyes wide. "Myrddin, they're—"

"Run," Myrddin breathed, for it was their only option. Whoever, whatever these things were, they were here to cause harm. They couldn't fight back. They had to get away now, or they'd be as dead as whoever had sent them clearly wanted them to be.

"What?" the blonde looked at him, almost in a daze, not seeming to comprehend the fact that they were in very real danger when just a few moments ago, he'd been having a laugh at Myrddin's expense.

He didn't bother to repeat himself. Instead, he tightened his grip on the other man's wrist and pulled at the same time as he took off running. He was fast, as it turned out, and once he'd stopped stumbling and realised what they were doing, Arthur matched his pace effortlessly.

The only problem was that Myrddin, up until a week ago, had been unconscious for a month in hospital. His muscles weren't quite back to themselves, and within a minute, his lungs began to burn with the effort of breathing as they ran. His legs ached, and the incessantly heavy, echoing steps behind them were showing no signs of stopping. He let go of Arthur's hand. He was only slowing him down. If only he could have been faster, they would be able to escape together, but there was no reason the blonde, however infuriating he had tried to be, should get caught up in this and hurt. Whatever this was. He cast a glance over his shoulder. They were some distance away now, for they did not move quickly, but still, they advanced, steadily approaching.

Arthur was still running, had pulled ahead of Myrddin when the dark haired man stumbled and fell. And Arthur, the stupid idiot, turned around and came back for him. The alleyway was long, but it wasn't far to the main road. He could even see people.

But that didn't matter. Because now, they weren't going to make it. Even as Arthur dragged him to his feet and pulled him along after him, he knew they weren't going to make it. He felt dizzy, and there was a haze of darkness at the edges of his vision that had him near pitching forwards as they tried to escape.

He glanced back, knowing with fear and utter certainty that they would not make it.

They were already upon them.


	5. Chapter Four: The Witch

Chapter Four 

The Witch

The other had picked up its weapon, and both were swinging their clubs down to strike when, seemingly from nowhere, the wood burst into flames. And, rather than being pulverised, a mixture of ashes and iron nails rained down upon them instead. One tore into the skin on the back of Myrddin’s hand, but that was better than having his skull cracked open. He looked to Arthur, relieved to see him safe as the blonde dragged him back from their attackers who looked puzzled for all of a few moments. But their confusion wasn’t to last. They had one goal in mind, it seemed, and being without their makeshift clubs was not about to deter them from pursuing their target. 

If they just got to the main road, they could be safe, he thought, and whatever it was that had destroyed the weapons, he didn’t care because it might just give them enough time to run. Turning from them, ready to run a final time, Myrddin found himself crying out as he and Arthur very nearly collided with the one behind the flames. 

Before them, hands outstretched and seemingly burning, stood a woman. Dressed in black from head to toe, she had her hood pulled up that Myrddin couldn’t see her face, but her hair, long and curling, cascaded down over the front of her coat. That, too, was very near to black. 

For a moment, he was afraid. His mind went back to the words PC du Lac had spoken to him about the fire. That the old man had been aided by an accomplice, that he couldn’t have set the fire alone. And this girl’s hands were quite literally on fire. It finally registered with him that it was the case, and he gave a shout, hands clutching at Arthur for support because he had to be seeing this, too, and that was when she spoke. 

“Duck,” she advised simply, her voice allowing for no argument. 

While Myrddin was in no mood to argue with someone who wanted to help him, he didn’t manage to react fast enough. He was too busy staring at the fact that this woman’s hands, though they had at first seemed to be on fire, were not so. Rather, she was holding balls of flame in the palms of her hands. It was like they were floating. 

“Magic,” he breathed, knowing it to be true without needing to be told. Here was a girl capable of magic, of conjuring fire in her hands, and she was very real, and he was not dreaming of this. 

Luckily, Arthur reacted quicker than Myrddin, dragging him down to the ground just as one of the lumbering beings grabbed at the space they’d been occupying. But it wasn’t above them for long. 

The woman threw the fire in her hands at it, catching the crude clothes it wore alight. She watched with some satisfaction as one ran into the other, setting it ablaze, too. Soot rained down from them in dark clouds as the cloth disintegrated. Beneath it, they were mottled with patches of stone and rotting flesh, and while that explained the stench that had been coming from them, it didn’t make Myrddin feel any less sick. 

She threw fire yet again, and while it made them stumble, it just wasn’t enough. As Myrddin looked on, she brought her hands together, creating ball of flame larger than any he had seen yet. 

Had she been anything to do with the old man, whoever he was, she surely would have let the things squash both him and Arthur. She wouldn’t be saving them. She’d have just let them die, surely. 

As she stood there, her eyes gleamed with gold through the darkness her hood offered her, and the ball of flame grew ever larger until she was able to hurl it at what could only be described as the inhuman monsters. 

The stink of them as they were consumed in the fire had Myrddin’s eyes watering, and he shut them tightly against the blazing brightness, keeping his head down. The monsters had been silent all the time they had pursued them, and they were silent as they died but for the crackle of flames that had nothing to do with them at all, really. 

As the ashes and embers rained down on them, Arthur took his arms from where he’d been pinning Myrddin to the ground and pushed himself slowly up to his feet, regarding their saviour with a mix of suspicion and thanks. 

The woman extinguished the flames that had been licking her palms by curling her fingers inward sharply, then reached up and lowered her hood, smirking. 

“What are you doing here? I— how?” Eloquent, it seemed, was not something that Arthur was capable of being when faced with a shock. Myrddin looked between them, wondering just how it was that Arthur knew this woman who had saved them from being killed. 

“I couldn’t let my little brother get squished now, could I?” asked their champion, laughing when the blonde’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again before he snapped it shut with an audible click. “What’s the matter?” she asked, “Ashamed of being saved by a girl?” 

“What was that?” Arthur demanded, asking all the right questions, really, in Myrddin’s opinion. 

The blonde reached down to help Myrddin up, and he took the hand offered to him gratefully, though noticed that Arthur couldn’t tear his gaze away from the woman with the dark hair and gold eyes. 

Although, now that he looked at her, Myrddin realised that her eyes were in fact grey. Strange.  

“What are you doing here? No, I… how did you do that?” Apparently, Arthur couldn’t settle on just one question at a time. There were too many that needed answering. 

“Magic,” she said, wiggling her fingers. As though all this were entirely normal. 

“I’m sorry, but who are you?” Myrddin asked, looking carefully at the woman. 

“Myrddin, this is my sister,” the blonde began, only to be interrupted by her. 

“Half sister, actually. Arthur’s mother was my mother. I was from her first marriage, you see,” she said, offering her hand, palm up, to Myrddin. “My name is Morgana,” she said. 

“Myrddin,” he said, taking her hand and shaking it. 

“Not Myrddin Wyllt, by any chance, are you?” she questioned, eyes suddenly alight with curiosity. 

“I… yes, why?” he asked, taking his hand back, suddenly nervous. Perhaps the only reason she’d not killed him was because she hadn’t known who he was. 

“Never mind that,” Arthur interrupted, agitated. “Morgana, what were they? And for that matter, what are you doing here, and what do you mean, ‘magic’?” 

She went past them both and over to the pile of rubble and ash, all that was left of their attackers. 

“Trolls,” Morgana said with disgust as she looked down at them, her expression matching the one Arthur had given when he’d first smelled them exactly. “They’re hideous creatures, made by magic using the petrified flesh of…” she broke off and shuddered, looking away from the pile and over to the two men who stood watching her. “They’re as slow and stupid as they are strong, but their numbers have been increasing just lately.” 

“And what are you doing here?” Arthur demanded, determined to know absolutely everything there was to know. 

“These two were following me. I gave them the slip and doubled back to check they were gone and saw you both. I didn’t expect anyone else to be here, but you needed my help, I couldn’t just let you get hurt. I’ve been looking into some things lately, and whoever’s behind it doesn’t want me digging much further,” she said. She held up a hand before Arthur could ask his last question, apparently already well aware of what it was that he wanted to know. “You’re going to ask about the magic. I know. Let me tell you now that you’d not have known a thing about this, Arthur, if I’d not been scared you were about to die.” 

The blonde opened his mouth as though he were about to protest that. 

“I never wanted your father to know about me. You know him, he’d probably call me mad and try and have me put into a loony bin. It’d save him some trouble. And what’s more, people like me, Arthur, people who have the ability to perform magic like this, everything that we are is a secret. I’m only telling you this now because you nearly died and had to see what I am. And because of Myrddin.” 

“I’m sorry,” Myrddin spoke up, needing an answer, because if she were a danger to him, he had to know so he could make a break for it before it was too late. “But how do you know who I am?” 

“A friend of mine vanished two weeks ago. The Elders have been trying to keep this quiet, but for months now, sorcerers—” she held a hand up to stop Arthur’s cry of disbelief over the word before he could even give it, “—have been vanishing under mysterious circumstances. And I’ve noticed a pattern. Just before they go missing, their homes are burned to the ground. Or maybe it’s been happening after they’ve gone missing, but the point is, no bodies are ever found. They leave no evidence. They just vanish, and all that’s left are the charred ruins of their homes. Like they were never there. And the fires are set by magic. I can’t ask anyone for help because the Elders don’t know that I’m looking for those gone missing. I tried talking to them about it before, but they told me to let it be. That I would frighten people unnecessarily when it’s just coincidence and accidents, but I know the truth. Mordred isn’t dead. I’d know it if he were.” 

“But how do you know who I am?” 

“All the sorcerers who have gone missing, Myrddin,” she said, “Have vanished after a fire. I know a few people. One of them told Mordred and I about a fire that happened a little while ago. We went looking. The traces of enchantment were all over the place, you could feel it in the air, in the ashes, that it had begun with magic, that the reason, the way that place burned down was the same as all the others. But something was different this time. There was a survivor. You didn’t go missing. You escaped. You’re still here now. Every other sorcerer has vanished, yet you managed to get away from whoever it is that’s been doing this. And now, Mordred’s gone, too. Please, if you know anything, if you can tell me how you got away, I can tell others, I can spread the word.” 

“Sorry, but what?” Myrddin asked, laughing because he was nervous, because he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You think that I’m…” he gestured at her, splaying his hands as though he were capable of something like what he’d seen her doing. But it was a mad idea, and that’s all it was. “You think that I’m like you?” 

“I don’t know,” she said, and she did look as though she were giving him an honest answer. “If you’re one of us, you’ve kept it quiet. I’ve never seen you before. I’d never even heard of your name until we started looking into all this.” 

He chewed at his lower lip as he gazed at her, searching for the truth. He was human, wasn’t he? He looked human. Well, yes, he may have looked a little bit strange, but he didn’t think he was abnormal in any way. And yet, her words made sense. Someone had tried to kill him. Someone had set his home on fire, and perhaps, rather than kill him, they’d been intending to take him, like they had the others. He swallowed as the increasingly over-familiar feeling of dread washed through him again. 

“You said that they were after you,” he said, gesturing the trolls with his free hand. Arthur still held onto his left wrist, for some reason. “But I don’t think that’s right. They were after me.” 

“What?” 

“Well, if you’re right. If whoever it was that’s behind all this was planning to abduct me, like the others, then that I’m still here, walking around, free…” he let out a breath, hardly able to believe it himself. “If you’re right, if I was meant to vanish like the others, then I’m proof of what’s been happening. They want me dead. The police are looking for the man who they think started the fire, and they’ve not found him yet. If he’s still out there, then they were after me.” 

“But how did you escape?” 

He looked down at his feet. “I don’t… I don’t remember anything, Morgana. My life is a blur of nothing to me. I don’t know who I am, I don’t… I want to help you, I do, but I just can’t remember. I don’t even… now you think I’m caught up in all this, I don’t know if you’re right or if you’re wrong. I don’t know if I’m like you, I don’t know anything. I don’t know who I am. I don’t have anything. All I know is what I was told. And that’s not much.” 

“Then… maybe that’s why the sorcerers haven’t been returning. Maybe you were just lucky, maybe… maybe when they’re kidnapped, they have their memories taken from them. Myrddin!” she grabbed hold of his shoulders, shaking him slightly, her eyes bright with energy, “Myrddin, this could be it. Please. You have to come with me. I can show you to the Elders. If I take you to them, they’ll have to listen to me. They’ll have to face up to this, to realise that this threat is real and start warning people to guard themselves against it. They’ll have to start looking for the ones we’ve lost. You escaped. You’re not lost. You’re here. And this means that whoever is behind all this, they’re not just killing sorcerers. They’re stealing them. They could all still be alive!”  

Behind them, there was laughter. The giggles of teenagers as they used the alleyway as a shortcut, oblivious to all the terrors, all the revelations that had happened there. 

“We should go,” said Morgana, releasing Myrddin’s shoulders and looking over to Arthur who, for quite some time now, had been very, very quiet. 

The blonde was standing still, looking traumatised and a little bit shell-shocked. His grip on Myrddin had become white-knuckled, and he was leaning on him now for support, as though he didn’t know what to do with himself, as though, without help, he’d not stay standing for very much longer. 

“I have to take you to the Elders,” she said with a glance to Myrddin. “But I can’t leave Arthur… more might come after us when they’ve realised that these two didn’t fulfil their purpose. No. He’ll have to come with us. For now.” 

“What?” the blonde demanded, finally snapping to attention. “Come with you where? Morgana— This is stupid! You’re not… he’s not—” he shook his head, in denial, looking from Myrddin to Morgana, and back again. 

Even with all they’d seen, Myrddin could understand how Arthur was feeling. He could hardly believe this either, and while he didn’t know what he was, while he didn’t know if he was like Morgana, he could not deny what he had seen, and he could not deny that everything she had said fit. 

What had happened to Myrddin had happened to others, and if he could help, if he could solve it, they could stop it from ever happening again. If he could find the others who had been taken, then perhaps he would find out why this had happened to him. Perhaps he would find a way to get his memories back. To learn who he had been before. 

“Take us to them,” he said to Morgana. 

She offered him her hand. 

Still holding onto Arthur, he took it.


	6. Chapter Five: The City Below

Chapter Five 

The City Below

Morgana’s eyes glowed gold, and in the blink of the same eyes, Myrddin felt as though his body were being torn to shreds and whisked away upon the wind. Thick swathes of bright, white smoke surrounded the three of them, the tendrils threading their way between them as barely a moment passed. The ground beneath them became solid once more, and the moment his vision cleared, Myrddin stumbled, doing his best not to be sick. Arthur, beside him, was suffering just as badly. As he’d suspected earlier, the blonde didn’t manage to stay standing alone. 

Myrddin fell forward, the blackness returning to the edges of his vision, and he gasped, throwing out his hands to catch himself only to land hard on his knees on the ground. His hands followed, his palms grazing against the stone beneath him as he took deep breaths, trying to steady himself. 

As his vision cleared and he blinked away the darkness that had threatened to consume him, he looked about. The concrete of the alleyway was gone. The close brick walls had vanished. The pile of rubble, the only evidence of the attack, was nowhere to be seen. The only remaining constants were Morgana and Arthur, and out of them Morgana was the only one unaffected by what had just happened. But that was bound to be expected, really. For she had done this before. She had to have done. If she hadn’t, Myrddin was fairly sure that they’d be dead right now. That thought was becoming increasingly too common to him. 

“I feel sick,” Arthur said beside him, his face looking somewhat green as he pushed himself to this feet and straightened up, looking entirely unsteady and as though he might fall again at any moment. 

“You’ll get used to it,” said Morgana, looking at them both with amusement. 

“Why didn’t you ever tell me about this?” he asked her as Myrddin fell back and sat, legs sprawling in front of him. He looked around, utterly bewildered.  

They were in a city. They had exchanged one alleyway for another. This one, though, seemed old. There was the stone of cobbles below them, and rather than barely enough space for two to walk abreast, the walls about them, some of flint, some of stone unrecognisable that shimmered with veins of gold, were far apart. Arthur leant against one now, a hard look in his eyes as he glared at his sister, almost as though he’d been betrayed. 

“I told you—” she began. 

“No. You should have… you should have trusted me with this, and now you’re telling me that you’ve been looking into missing people. I saw you at lunch with father yesterday, and you never said a thing about Mordred going missing. Why didn’t you tell me?” 

For the first time, Morgana had the grace to look guilty. 

“You’ve been under his thumb for years now. I was too scared to tell you, Arthur.” 

His expression softened some, but it didn’t last long. He took in their surroundings for the first time and his expression of confusion, as though he were lost, returned again. 

Morgana looked around, too, and laughed, sounding just a bit nervous. 

“Well, this wasn’t where I was aiming for, but it’s good enough,” she said. 

“What do you mean, it’s not what you were aiming for?” Arthur asked. 

“I wanted to take us straight to the council chambers. They must be having a meeting. They’ve been having a lot of them lately, but not about any of the important things.” 

“You weren’t aiming for this,” the blonde repeated, as though he wasn’t comprehending what was being said. 

“Well, we’re lucky we landed between buildings. We could have landed inside one. Or further underground… or in a wall…” 

“In a wall?” he demanded, his voice rising to a shout. 

“It’s alright! We’re safe, look!” 

“We’re underground,” Myrddin said, reaching out to use the faintly glowing wall of the building beside him to pull himself up to his feet, unsteady and in great need of the support. 

“…how do you know that?” Arthur asked, his outrage with his sister forgotten for now. 

“I don’t know,” he replied, still looking around. It was dark here, as though the place where in a perpetual dusk. Using the wall to keep himself upright, he began to walk, taking things slowly after the overexertion he’d forced himself through earlier. “But look, it was light when we were out,” he said. 

They followed him as he made his slow way out of the alleyway and onto a cobbled street. Around them were lamp posts, old oil ones that glowed pale and gold. Far above, where there ought have been sky, was an impenetrable darkness, so black that it reflected the pale gold light back down on the streets below.  

“He’s right,” Morgana confirmed at his side. “Like I said, we could’ve ended up further underground.” Then she turned to her brother. “Arthur, I… I don’t want you to get mixed up in all this. This is dangerous. My friends have been disappearing. Mordred’s gone. You saw those trolls. But they weren’t after you. I can take you home and come back to take Myrddin to the Elders. You don’t have to meet them, Arthur. This isn’t your world, and I don’t want you to be unable to turn back. You care too much.” 

“It is dangerous. But that’s why I’m staying. You’re my sister. You’re telling me someone’s stolen Mordred. Someone tried to do the same to Myrddin. I can’t just leave.” 

The dark haired man turned to look at him, supporting himself with one of the lamp posts now. Why should Arthur care about him? But of course, he probably didn’t, did he? Myrddin was just the key to finding out what had happened to the others. If they could regain his memories, if they could unlock them, they could find out who it was that had set the fires, they could find them, and hopefully, find the missing sorcerers. Arthur wanted his sister to be safe. And Mordred, whoever he was. Perhaps he would even be used to draw the perpetrators out. If they were desperate to see him killed, for there to be no living evidence of all that had been happening, then they’d come after him again. And if they caught them, they might find the missing sorcerers. He shook his head, tried not to think of it like that. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Arthur said. 

“…alright, Arthur,” Morgana said, offering her hand to him again. 

Myrddin could only laugh when the blonde snatched his own hand to his chest, looking at his sister with suspicion. 

“I’m not taking your hand again,” he told her. “You’ll just do that… that thing again. I’d rather take Myrddin’s,” he said, doing just that to show her, only he looked down at the same time, saw the grazes crisscrossing the other man’s palms, at the gash a nail had made on the back of one. “You’re hurt,” he said, voice quiet. 

“They’re just scratches,” Myrddin said, taking his hands back. He wasn’t prepared to listen to any more digs at his own expense. 

“No, they’re not. You’re bleeding,” Arthur said, although he didn’t reach for him again. After all, what could he have done? It wasn’t as though he made a habit of carrying medical equipment with him. He wasn’t Gaius. 

“What are you doing?” Morgana demanded when the sound of tearing cloth reached her, and she groaned to see Arthur’s heroics, to see him sacrifice his own shirt in the pursuit of making a bandage out of a strip that had once been the hem. He went to wrap it about Myrddin’s injured hands before she stopped him.

“Arthur, your shirt’s covered in troll scum and ash, how do you think that’s going to help him?” 

“It’s better than nothing, isn’t it?” the blonde asked, though he seemed to falter. 

Myrddin looked at the other man’s hopeful face, and softened some. Perhaps he wasn’t all jibes and bravado. “Thanks for trying,” he said, carefully unwrapping his hands and pocketing the torn cloth instead. Maybe they could wash it and use it later. 

Arthur looked up, meeting Myrddin’s eyes in a moment that had his heart beat a little bit faster, made him feel nervous, though he couldn’t place why. 

And then it was over. 

Morgana had begun to walk down the empty street that was paved with cobbles and lit with golden light. She turned to call over her shoulder for them both. 

Shaken from the moment, Myrddin walked slowly beside Arthur in Morgana’s wake. He didn’t feel strong. He felt as though he’d done more than he ought have done for an entire week, never mind a day. There was a clocktower, he could see from where they walked. It claimed it had been but a few hours since he had left the hospital. How was that possible? He felt weary, and perhaps it showed, for Arthur didn’t walk on ahead with Morgana as he probably should have done. She was his sister, after all. No. He stayed with Myrddin instead. 

“So, come on, where are we?” Arthur asked after they’d walked in silence for a while. 

“It’s called the City Below. For obvious reasons,” Morgana said without looking back at them. “It had other names, but no one really remembers what they were. This one stuck. Sorcerers have lived here peacefully for centuries now.” 

“Then… why are they being kidnapped? And why do they hide down here?” Arthur asked. 

She did glance back at him then, but it was only to shoot him a scathing look.  

“If I knew why they’re kidnapping sorcerers, I might be closer to finding Mordred,” she said, then sighed. “We hide because…” she shrugged her shoulders as they walked. “The only evidence we’ve got is in the hall of records. But a long time ago, sorcerers lived freely with mortals. Until something went wrong. Sorcerers became persecuted. There was one who tried to promote peace, but he didn’t succeed. There are legends… everyone’s got a different version of it. Look, I’m not about to tell you a bedtime story. In the end, it was decided it was safer for our kind to hide. And there used to be more people here. But lately, our number has dwindled. Not all sorcerers live down here. Some live above and come down here whenever they have need. For now, the ones vanishing are those that live above. It’s almost as though whoever’s behind this doesn’t have access to the city.” 

Arthur’s hands clenched into fists as he looked around at a city she knew well but that he’d never even heard of before now. “Your kind… Morgana, you’re my sister. I’m your kind.” 

“And I’m still your sister. But magic runs in my blood. Not yours. I came into my magic years ago. These people are my kind. And with the way things are, the persecution that we’ve suffered at the hands of mortals… it’s safer to stay with our own. They’ve taken care of me for a long time, Arthur.” 

“How long?” he wanted to know. He stopped walking then, and though it took Myrddin and Morgana a moment or two to realise it, they weren’t far enough away that they couldn’t hear him when he next spoke. “How long have you been coming here? Alone?” 

“I’ve not been alone, I’ve had Mordred—” 

“Morgana.” 

“…eight years, maybe.” 

Arthur’s face fell in something like defeat, and he almost looked ashamed with himself, ashamed that he’d not been there for his own sister. Myrddin frowned at the expression on the blonde, his chest feeling in that moment as though he were still running from the trolls. 

“I wish you’d told me,” Arthur said, quiet for the first time since Myrddin had known him. 

He didn’t think he liked seeing him like this. He preferred arrogance on him any day of the week. Seeing him like this, almost as though he were broken, well, it hurt. 

He stood apart from them when Morgana crossed the distance between them and wrapped her arms about her younger brother, holding him tightly, letting him know that it wasn’t his fault. And rather than feel jealous as he might have expected, rather than dwell on the fact that he was well aware that he had nothing like this in his life, Myrddin could only smile. Because these two mattered to one another. Even if there had been a lie between them. 

He looked away after a few moments, feeling as though he were intruding. He turned and walked on ahead, in the direction Morgana had been leading them, slow enough about it that it wouldn’t take them long to catch up, though he did this more for himself than for them. He was quite amazed that he was still standing upright, really, much less that he was still walking about. The cobbled street gave way to a bridge that he started up, stopping in the middle to look down at whatever it was he was crossing. 

He had expected to see water, and he was not disappointed. Below, there was a dark river, shimmering and shining in rippling patches as it flowed strongly, and while he found it strange that it should be here, so far below the surface of the world he’d thought was the only one, he supposed it wasn’t the strangest thing he had seen that day. He looked up then, at the expanse of the city, and he was sure there was more of it than he could see through the shining darkness, but most of his attention was stolen by what appeared to be a castle. Its turrets stood proud of the rest of the city and it reached to the tops of the dark fathoms above, watching over the streets and people below. There were homes, dotted about here and there, some with lights in their windows. He could even spy shop fronts selling oddities that he could not begin to fathom. Here was an entire society that he had not known existed. And while he was aware that there was much he didn’t know, it didn’t make him feel any less amazed. 

Footsteps echoed from behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder out of reflex alone in spite of the fact that he’d been certain as to who it would be.    
Morgana joined him on one side, and Arthur on his other as they each looked out at the City Below. 

“Look,” said Morgana as she pointed up at the castle, “You see that?” 

“The castle? It’s beautiful,” Myrddin said. Looking at it, it gave him a sense of being at home. He dropped his gaze, shaking his head. But he’d never been here before. Unless she was right. Unless he was like her. 

“It’s not a castle. Well, not any more. It used to be, I think. That’s where we’re going. It’s where the Council Chambers are. That’s where the Elders meet.” 

“They couldn’t have given themselves a bigger place, could they?” Arthur asked at his side, voice dry. 

“They could be trying to make up for something,” Myrddin said, something he’d heard Guinevere say back in the hospital about men with fast cars, and anyone would think he’d just told the best joke going with the way Arthur was laughing at it. 

Myrddin ducked his head on a grin as Morgana huffed out a sigh and pushed away from the wrought iron railings of the bridge. 

“You’re a pair of children,” she told them, and they had no choice but to follow along in her wake, trying to put a stop to their giggles and failing rather miserably whenever one happened to catch the other’s eye. It wasn’t so much that the joke had been funny. Yes, it had been funny, but it was mainly hysterics over all that had happened. It might have even been partly relief at the fact that they were still alive to be laughing. 

They followed her through the streets, off the bridge and along the river’s path for the most part until they reached it. The castle climbed even taller up close into what served as a sky down Below, and Myrddin craned his head back as he tried to take it all in, breathless with the sight of it, a little bit dizzy, too, but that had more to do with the fact that he was so recently out of hospital and had been put through too much too soon. 

There was no uncertainty about Morgana as she crossed the narrow bridge through and into the castle’s courtyard. Her steps were confident as they echoed in the easy silence of the place, but before they could make their way up the steps to knock at the doors there, a man emerged. 

“Haven’t you bothered the Elders enough, Morgana?” he asked as he took the steps down a few at a time until he reached them, a little bit flushed, a little bit breathless, but smiling. It was as though he’d seen them coming, then run as fast as he could to intercept them before they could get inside. For all that, though, there was no animosity in the man’s face, just an open friendliness.

“That depends, Gwaine, are you still working for Daddy?” 

“Surely I’m not the only reason you’re here bothering them every day,” he said. There was something about his voice, something about his accent that was different to the ones Myrddin had heard so far. 

He was tall enough that he could look over her shoulder and at the men behind her, just in time to catch Arthur rolling his eyes at him. 

“Brought a bit of reinforcement, have you?” the man, Gwaine, asked. 

“I wouldn’t call Arthur reinforcement,” Morgana all but scoffed. 

“Oh, so this is the mortal, is it?” 

Myrddin felt Arthur bristle beside him at the reminder that he’d not been involved in this side of his sister’s life. At being called ‘mortal’ like it were strange. 

“And you’re not?” the blonde questioned, and the arrogance had returned some, almost as though he were shielding himself with it. 

“Well, not really,” replied Gwaine with a smile that was still friendly in spite of the fact that Arthur was all animosity. 

“…and I suppose Morgana’s not either,” he said, his voice a bit more quiet, a bit more uncertain. 

“She is not.” 

“And not Myrddin either.” 

Myrddin glanced over at Arthur, filled with sympathy for him. While he felt mortal, while he’d no idea as to his past, the strangeness of their situation wasn’t something he could ignore. The possibility that he might not have technically been human with the way these two spoke about sorcerers was a little bit frightening. He couldn’t blame Arthur for the lack of self-assurance he was currently showing if only because Myrddin felt the same. 

“Is he marked?” Gwaine asked then, turning eager, searching eyes to Myrddin who frowned, confused, before looking down at himself, wondering what it was that he was looking for. He was certainly marked, he thought, if being covered in a mixture of ashes and ‘troll scum’, as Morgana had called it, counted. 

“I’ve not had a chance to check, honestly,” she said, watching as Gwaine stepped over and circled Myrddin with a playful smile on his face. 

“I’m sure he’d not mind me checking,” he said, joking if his laugh was anything to go by, although Morgana levelled a glare at him that had his expression sobering some. But not before he’d offered a wink at Myrddin that had his cheeks going red beneath the ash while Arthur looked over at Gwaine’s antics with a scowl. He was not impressed, though why, Myrddin did not know. 

“Sorry, but what do you mean, marked?” he asked rather than try and help Arthur with his strange moods. 

“This,” Morgana said, pulling back the sleeve of her coat to expose her left forearm to them. In what looked to be white ink against her pale skin were the interlocked spirals of a triskelion. 

The expression on Arthur’s face was that of someone perceiving something they had seen hundreds of times before in an entirely new way. Evidently, he’d seen this mark on his sister before and assumed it to mean nothing. And now, he knew better. 

Gwaine, meanwhile, had pulled at the neckline of his shirt, enough to reveal the beginnings of his own white, swirling triskelion. 

“We mark ourselves out as what we are. It lets us know who we can trust,” he said. 

Myrddin reached out, pressing his fingers lightly against the pale mark on Gwaine’s skin. 

“Did it hurt?” he wanted to know. 

“Not at all.” 

Arthur looked almost disappointed. 

But then he looked to his sister, concern obvious. 

“Doesn’t this make you easy to pick out, though? You said to me people were vanishing—” 

“You’ve tried to get them in on it, too?” Gwaine asked, surprised. 

“They’re already involved,” Morgana said. 

“…well, good. Not good because it’s a horrible business, but good because any help’s better than none.” 

He could feel the low, warm vibration as the man spoke, feel the gentle strength of the pulse beneath his skin, and the hint of something else, something warm and pulling, almost intangible but indispensable in spite of that. Myrddin was still pressing his fingers to the symbol on Gwaine’s skin, though he took them away quickly the moment he realised what he’d been doing. He had enough sense in him to look a little bit embarrassed, thankfully. 

And Gwaine was just stood there all but laughing at his embarrassment. 

“Why do you mark yourselves?” he asked for the sake of distraction as much as for interest. 

“It lets us pick each other out, prove that we are what we say we are without a demonstration, and believe me, if you ever go above, giving a light show just to prove yourself isn’t too practical.” 

“That’s it?” 

“No, there’s a few other benefits to it, too. Magnifying your power’s just one of them.” 

If there were others, Gwaine didn’t mention them. Not out of personal choice, but rather because Morgana had interrupted him. 

“We need to see the Elders,” she said, pulling her sleeve back down to cover her forearm once more. 

“I’d gathered that, you know,” Gwaine said with a smile as though things weren’t serious. Although, to see the look in his eyes, filled with determination, Myrddin wondered if he really was all humour and fun as he had first seemed. 

“Could you stay as we meet with them?” she asked as they walked up the steps toward the heavy oak doors that led into the castle. “I could do with your support in this. They’re so sick of me by now that they’re bound to ignore everything I say, even with evidence.” 

“Anything for you,” he said flippantly, then glanced back at Myrddin and Arthur, pausing at the top of the steps. “Coming?” he asked.


	7. Chapter Six: The Council of Elders

Chapter Six 

The Council of Elders

Gwaine showed them to the Council Chambers in the heart of the castle. He left them a few feet from the door because, he said, the Elders would need to be warned of their presence before they could go inside. It was simply how things were done.

The castle was warmer than Myrddin had expected. Torches burned in their sconces at regular intervals along the stone corridors, throwing both light and flickering shadows in strangely beautiful pools. Rather than burning with the gold of the street lamps, however, these burned with a very real flame, orange and bright.

There were voices beyond the doors, low murmurs to be heard, intriguing enough to Morgana that she had her ear pressed against the wood, trying her best to hear what was being said on the other side.

She wouldn't let Arthur or Myrddin speak either, waving a hand irritably at them when either one seemed about to say something.

Eventually, the door opened. It was slow, giving Morgana enough time to back away without being caught. It was almost as though Gwaine had known what she would be doing.

"They're ready to hear you. Again," he said, a little bit cheeky still, but for the most part, he was sombre about it. Apparently, this was serious.

"Come on," said Morgana, stepping past Gwaine and through, into the Council Chambers. Gwaine waited for Myrddin and Arthur to follow before doing the same, closing the door behind them.

As the door swung shut, Myrddin felt trapped for a few inexplicable moments. Once it had passed, once he reminded himself that he was here by choice, to help those who needed it, he relaxed some and took the opportunity to look about the grand chamber in which they stood.

Grand was certainly the word for it. The hall was long and vast, and as they began to cross it, Myrddin saw that, rather than sconces lining the walls, there were instead the curved arcs of windows, looking out onto the city, and below each, was a small window seat. It was almost as though, once, there had been many people intended to inhabit the space they were in. What distracted Myrddin's attention most, however, was the long, narrow table at which sat three men and four women of similar age who looked rather as though they hardly ever got up from their seats, as though they were far too comfortable where they were.

"Morgana le Faye," said the man who sat in the centre in a voice that, while not a shout, shook Myrddin to attention. The four of them came to a stop in the centre of the chambers, a respectable distance away from the council. "We, the Elders, listen. What say you?"

"My Lords and Ladies," Morgana began, as deferential as Myrddin had ever heard her so far, "I've come to speak with you on the subject of those sorcerers who have vanished from our society. On behalf of those missing."

Myrddin might have imagined it, but the Elder who had spoken seemed to tighten his jaw at the mention of the missing sorcerers. It was strange.

"You have petitioned us on this matter before. The Elders do not go back on their decisions, Morgana."

"Elder Gorlois—" Morgana began, only to be interrupted by an outburst from Arthur who was looking between Morgana and the Elder in shock.

"Gorlois?" he asked, all but demanded, until Morgana stamped quite inelegantly on his foot with her boot.

Myrddin looked over to Arthur, brows knitted together in confusion, wanting to know exactly what was so remarkable about the Elder's name. Arthur's blue eyes caught Myrddin's, but he shook his head at him. Well. He would have to ask him later about that.

"I have brought new evidence to you. You must listen to me," she said in a loud voice that would have been commanding were she not speaking to the ones in charge of the society she was a part of. "This man is Myrddin Wyllt. I came across him Above. He and my half brother, Arthur," she said, sure to make the distinction here as she gestured from one man to the other, pointing them out to the Elders as she had need to. "Were being run down by Trolls that had been sent to kill them. As you know, the homes of those sorcerers Above that go missing are burned to the ground on the event of their abduction. Myrddin's home was burned to the ground. I went there—"

"You have continued to look into this matter after I explicitly forbade you?" Elder Gorlois demanded, pushing himself up from his seat in anger, but that did not stop Morgana.

"—and there were traces of the same magic that had been used to raise the other fires."

"Gorlois," said one of the women at Gorlois' side, placing her hand on his. Reluctantly, he sat in his high backed chair once again. "I cannot help but notice, Morgana," she said kindly, and there was some hope in her eyes, too, Myrddin thought, "That this young man has not gone missing. He is, indeed, here before us."

"Myrddin escaped the fire, Elder Vivienne."

"How?" Vivienne asked.

"We don't know," Morgana admitted, ignoring the disbelieving bark of laughter from Elder Gorlois. "But he has escaped the fate suffered by many of our own kind. He has no memory of himself, but perhaps this is the reason why none of those gone missing have returned to us. Look, whoever is behind this, they know that Myrddin has escaped them. They want him dead."

"But why should they want him dead, yet not those they already have taken, as you say?"

"Because he might talk. We know that he can't, but they don't. They sent trolls after him, for goodness' sake."

"And what would you have us do?" Vivienne asked.

"Well, we have to start looking for those that have gone missing! We cannot just leave them. This is a real threat to us, to our way of life. Myrddin was lucky to escape, and they are still after him, yes, but only to stop him from telling anyone what he doesn't know. Myrddin is still alive. That means that those who vanish are still alive. They're not dead. They need our help, and you have to help me start looking for them. We have to find them, and stop whoever it is that's doing this."

Of the Elders, Vivienne looked most hopeful, as though she dearly wanted to assist Morgana, to do everything she had asked for.

It was Elder Gorlois who answered, however.

"The three of you shall remain here in the castle as the Elders deliberate," was all he said. He waved a hand to dismiss them, and Morgana's jaw clenched in annoyance.

"Gwaine will take you," said Vivienne, in a more kindly fashion than the other Elder had spoken.

As Gwaine led them back out, Myrddin cast a final glance back at the Elders, surprised to see their gazes on him as they spoke to one another.

"Who is Gorlois?" he asked Arthur in an undertone, now that he could speak freely.

"Morgana's father," Arthur replied, "And Vivienne is his second wife. I've heard Morgana talk about them, but I never knew…" he frowned, looking down at his feet as they walked.

"I'm sorry," Myrddin said, for it was all he could say.


	8. Chapter Seven: The Chambers

Chapter Seven 

The Chambers

The bedroom chambers that Gwaine showed them to were familiar to Morgana, at least. 

Each of the chambers were the same, Morgana had said as they walked down the east wing of the castle where they were bound to spend their night. What she did not mention, however, was that she had a room there to call her own, and it was this that she went to, though only after she had pointed Arthur to the room beside. 

“I’m not here often,” she said, pausing at the doorway when her brother seemed liable to demand just why it was that she was so at home here. Although it made sense, really, if her father was the Primary Elder. It made sense that she would stay in the castle often enough to warrant her own room there. 

“Thank you all,” she said to them then, just as Gwaine had been about to show Myrddin his own room. “Thank you for coming here with me, for helping. Even if… even if the Elders decide not to help, even if they decide that it would be too dangerous to reclaim the ones we’ve lost, it means the world to me that you’ve tried to help me get them back.” And then she vanished into her own chamber and shut the door behind her, saying something about needing to wash the troll scum out of her hair. Apparently, she wasn’t the biggest fan of speaking about emotions. 

Gwaine’s chambers were opposite Morgana’s, and these he showed to Myrddin first. 

“If there’s anything you need, anything you want, knock for me first, will you?” he said with a smile and a wink. He was sure that Gwaine hadn’t meant to sound as though his words were laden with suggestion, but that was certainly how they came out. Myrddin bit on his lower lip before he could say anything in return. 

His chambers looked well-lived in, anyway, as though he spent a good amount of time each day there. There was a sword, glittering away in the corner, that caught Myrddin’s eyes immediately, but he didn’t have much of a chance to look at it if only because Gwaine immediately scooped up a shirt and threw it with a good enough aim that it managed to cover it from sight. And yes, the room was a little bit messy, and the door that led to his bathroom boasted a screwed up towel on its threshold, but it really did look homely. It looked as though Gwaine was comfortable here. As though he were happy here, and that was the important thing in Myrddin’s opinion. 

“That invitation stretches to me, too, does it?” came Arthur’s voice from behind him. 

“I didn’t know you were still here,” said Gwaine as he turned about to face the blonde who was all but glowering at him, strangely enough. He really did look jealous. And before Myrddin could wonder where that had come from, Arthur was speaking again. 

“I thought it would be a good idea to find out where everyone sleeps. Just in case.” 

And it probably hadn’t been meant to sound menacing in spite of the thunderous look on Arthur’s face, but like Gwaine’s suggestiveness, it, too, probably had come out wrong. 

There was a brief lull in speech that might have been called awkward as Gwaine looked between them, then held his hands up in mock surrender. 

“Didn’t know I was stepping on any toes,” he said lightly, shutting his bedroom door and going to the one next door which he opened for Myrddin. “This is yours,” he said to him, gesturing him inside. 

Myrddin crossed the threshold and looked around. It was like Gwaine’s, yes, even similar to the little he had seen of Morgana’s, though unlike their rooms, this one was clean. It was almost blank, really, to look at, as though this was what all the rooms looked like before an inhabitant ended up inevitably placing their own individual stamp on it. 

There was a single bed pressed against the far wall, above which was a window, crossed into tiny diamond panes by a dark grille. He approached the window and crawled onto the bed so that he could see as he leant on the window ledge and looked out onto the City Below, his breath leaving him at the sight of it. It truly was beautiful, all shimmering golds and rooftops above homes filled with people, all of them magic, for that seemed to be rather an important prerequisite for living here. If he looked carefully, he could even see, now and then, someone walking their way home as the glowing lights began to dim. He supposed it was late evening now. The lights must be bright in the day. 

“They look almost afraid,” he said quietly, to himself more than anything. 

He’d not realised that Gwaine and Arthur were stood in the doorway, one glowering at the other who just looked liable to burst into giggles. 

“You would be afraid, too, if people you loved suddenly went missing. This is a scary time we’re living in. Morgana’s right to be questioning the Elders like this, but don’t tell anyone I said that. I like working here, but if they keep burying their heads over this, I’ll be leaving them to see what I can do to get the people gone back,” Gwaine said. Then he shook his head. He should not have said so much, it seemed, for he changed the subject as quickly as he was able. “You’ve got your own bathroom,” he said, pointing out the door that was, for now, closed. “You’ll be safe here tonight. It’s impossible to get into the city unless the Elders give you permission, or if you’re accompanied by one of the Marked. You’ll be in no danger here.” 

He backed out and, before Arthur could protest, Gwaine had shut the door and Myrddin was alone. 

He flopped down onto the bed and let his head rest against the wall, taking the moments alone to simply breathe and gather himself. There was a desk in the corner that he doubted he would use, and a wardrobe stood beside it. Figuring that it was empty, he ignored it for now. 

He felt exhausted. Looking up at the ceiling which was made of the same stone as the rest of the place, he wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the bed and sleep until morning. But not yet. He forced himself to get up, deciding he had done quite enough of sleeping to be getting on with over the past month and the week since he had woken up. 

Remembering what Gwaine had said about the bathroom, he crossed to it and tentatively opened the door, peeking inside. The first thing he encountered was the mirror above the sink. Catching sight of himself for the first time in long hours, Myrddin’s first response was to giggle inanely at himself. He looked a state. 

Troll scum had been right. His face was smeared with soot, and his hair and beard were not fairing much better, matted with almost everything that they’d encountered that day. Troll scum. He tried not to laugh at himself and failed spectacularly, bringing his hands up to cover his mouth, he kept his eyes on his unfamiliar reflection that did the same. At the very least, the gash on the back of his hand needed seeing to. Beside the sink, on a free standing wooden table, there was a small kit with medical supplies that looked a little bit old fashioned, but Gaius, in one of the many times in which he had sat and simply talked to Myrddin, had luckily explained some about healing minor cuts and grazes. 

And the first thing was that they had to be clean. There was a bath, he saw then, and a soft rug laid on the floor before it, with clean, fluffy towels hanging from the golden rail beside it. Perfect. 

He stripped down, dropping Arthur’s clothes unceremoniously in a pile on the floor because if he’d thought his hair was bad, if his beard and face looked a frightful mess, then they were worse. He didn’t know if the scum would vanish in the wash, but given the strange nature of the stuff, the dull stink that all but hit him as he pulled it all off, he somehow doubted it. 

Then he ran the bath, making it hot as he could stand. 

It was almost as though they had seen him coming, or perhaps they stocked all the chambers in the castle like this, for at the side of the bath was shampoo and everything else that he might need. He wondered, as he washed himself and tried to relax, if people ended up here often, and if they did, were they usually in need of fixing? Was that why the small, wooden box filled with first aid equipment was there? It would certainly explain the strange looking blue bottle in there, labelled as a healing salve. Well, he’d try it. 

He didn’t know how long he spent in the bath, cleaning himself up, but once he emerged from the water, he was a little bit embarrassed to see that the water he left was murky and grey. He reached in and pulled the plug to drain it, then, staying on the bath’s rug, he dried himself with one of the inherently warm, fluffy towels. He felt better already and a little bit more like he could sleep without worrying. Well, without worrying about himself. He inspected the cut on the back of his hand, then turned them both over to see the grazes he’d achieved when he had fallen after Morgana had transported them. They weren’t that bad, really. He could have come off so much worse than this. He could have been killed had she not been there. Had Arthur not been there to pull him up and keep him going. He was lucky. 

With clean hands, he picked up the blue bottle and looked at it carefully. There were instructions on the back, that explained the way to use it was to smooth the clear paste inside over the wound, that it ought to heal quickly. He sincerely doubted it. Gaius had told him things like this took at least a week, but if it would help even a little bit, then he’d try it. This was probably their version of antiseptic. 

Taking a chance with applying it on the cut and the grazes, he didn’t really expect it to work. Except that it did. It worked better than he could have ever expected it to. He gasped as his hands began to tingle, then feel hot, almost hotter than he could stand, and he watched in shock as the minor injuries began to knit themselves together, as though he had never been hurt. The only evidence that he had was a slight pinkness to the skin. Even the excess salve he had put on had absorbed into his skin. He turned his hands over, watched as the gash finished knitting itself together, the burning of its healing almost unbearable. And then it was done. 

He washed his hands out of habit that Gaius had instilled in him, then stepped out of the bathroom with the towel wrapped about himself, shivering just a little bit at the cool air in his room. Then stopped in his tracks for he wasn’t the only one there anymore. 

“Can I talk to you?” Arthur asked, and once he had stopped feeling shock over Arthur asking permission for anything, once he had finished feeling surprised over the fact that he was here at all, once he’d stopped wondering why he was here, and how long he’d been here for, Myrddin nodded. “I just wanted to spend time with the only other person who’s got no idea of what’s going on here,” he said, ruining his moment of humility spectacularly. 

“You’re not here to ask for your clothes back again, then?” Myrddin asked, crossing to the wardrobe in a sudden moment of inspiration. The bathroom had all been arranged as though it had known what he’d needed, or rather, as though whoever had set it up had known. Perhaps the wardrobe wasn’t just a place to hang the clothes you’d worn while you’d been here. Opening it up, he discovered clothes in black that he’d half been expecting after the surprise of the salve. He took them out, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes so that he could see, then threw the clean clothes over to the bed where he could put them on. 

“It’s like they knew we were coming,” Arthur said, but Myrddin shook his head. 

“I don’t think so, really. I think… I think that they often have people come here looking for sanctuary. There’s loads of different clothes in here. I mean, they’re all the same material, all looking the same, but they’re different sizes.” He opened the door so that Arthur could see the way it was packed. “I think they often look after people who need it. I just picked out what might fit,” he said. 

“Right,” said Arthur, almost dumbly as Myrddin padded over to the bed and sat down beside the clothes that he pulled into his lap. They were strong, whatever they were made of. As he looked at them, turned over the jacket in his hands, looked at the shirt, at the trousers, he thought it was the same as what Gwaine and Morgana had been wearing, and if it were a bit different in style, then the material was certainly the same. Almost like a uniform. He wondered at that, but decided that it was probably just to keep them safe. He hoped they’d not mind him borrowing them, for there was nothing else he could do, really. 

Arthur hadn’t changed yet. He was still partially covered in soot, still wearing the jeans, shirt and waistcoat he’d shown up at Gaius’ door with. 

“Are you alright?” Myrddin asked him then, fairly certain that Arthur was still in shock, that he’d not really processed all that had happened, for he was just stood stock still.  

Arthur lifted his chin, all defiance for whatever reason. “I’m fine,” he said, voice clear, and Myrddin gave a bit of a nod in turn. 

“I’ll get changed,” he said. “Don’t go?” 

Arthur shrugged, and Myrddin went back to the bathroom to do just that. He was quick about changing, and when he was done, he dropped the towel on top of Arthur’s clothes and inspected himself in the mirror out of interest more than anything else. His hair was still wet, though as it began to dry, it was curling some, and the black of the clothes against his skin was a little bit stark, but it was good enough. Somehow, although the fabric felt stronger than the tough leather of his boots, it was light, and flexible and somehow, it fit him perfectly. He actually didn’t look awful. 

“Don’t tell Alice that I’ve not shaved yet, she’ll be heartbroken,” he began to say as he came out of the bathroom and was once again confronted by Arthur. 

Before Myrddin had quite grasped what was happening, Arthur had pressed close, and for a few awful moments, he thought he was trying to hurt him, thought he was going to hit him. 

And he did hit him. Sort of. 

He backed him against the door he’d just shut, and Myrddin’s head collided against it with a dull thud that had him dazed for a few moments before he could quite register what Arthur was doing. 

He had his lips pressed against his, and his hands buried in his wet hair and Myrddin’s first thought was that Arthur could probably do with a wash himself, that he’d stopped smelling like soap, but then he stopped thinking. He gasped and let his eyes close, shocked but not about to protest this change of events, not when it had his heart jump like that. 

His jacket was pushed from his shoulders and fell to the floor in a crumpled heap, Arthur only breaking away from his lips long enough for the shirt to follow its path. The way he kissed, it was like he were desperate for the contact, desperate to be close to another person, desperate for something real amongst the surreality of everything else that they had experienced together. 

Myrddin couldn’t remember if he had ever kissed before, but it felt natural. It felt as though he ought to be doing this, as though he had always been meant to do this. His body burned where Arthur touched it, and he almost ached to keep his mouth on him, to touch him in turn, but that wasn’t an option, it seemed. Arthur’s lips were at his jawline, and though Myrddin couldn’t see him, he felt his eyes on him, felt him searching for something with the tips of his fingers. 

“You’re not marked,” said Arthur as he backed away, relief in his eyes, and it took Myrddin long moments to process just what that meant as he leant, dazed, against the door that lead to the bathroom, half naked. 

“What?” he asked rather intelligently, frowning at the blonde man who was still fully clothed, still as sooty as he had been when he’d started this. And then it clicked. 

Arthur hadn’t wanted to kiss him at all. He had done this because he was searching for the mark that was on Gwaine and Morgana. He had been checking that Myrddin was a mortal. 

“Get out,” Myrddin demanded, shoving him away more than he’d already moved himself. 

“Myrddin—” Arthur began, about to explain himself, but he didn’t need to. Myrddin had worked it out on his own. 

“Get out!” 

He didn’t know why he was tearful, why this hurt, but he wanted him gone. 

And Arthur, rather than argue, for once, did as he was told and left Myrddin alone.


	9. Chapter Eight: The Elders' Decision

Chapter Eight 

The Elders' Decision

Myrddin woke up feeling as though he’d not slept at all. The problem was that he had dreamt. They weren’t nightmares, not exactly. They were just dreams. He could hardly remember them now. They hadn’t been bad dreams either, not really. There had been flashes of a blond man, of someone smiling and laughing at him, of them being close as could be. But when he awoke, it was with a sense of longing, as though something had been taken from him, as though he had lost something he could barely remember. Something he dearly wished that he could remember if only so that he could find it again. It wasn’t hard for Myrddin to work out what the dream had meant. He was dreaming about Arthur.

He tried his best to shake the feeling of longing, to embrace the anger instead, as he buried his face in his pillow and breathed a sigh. It wasn’t fair that he should dream of him now. To dream of him and wake up feeling as though someone important had been taken away from him. Arthur had put on a big show that meant nothing just to check that he was mortal, and it wasn’t that he was angry with him. He was more angry at himself than anything. Angry at himself for letting it happen, and for believing in the back of his mind that Arthur must actually want something to do with him. But it wasn’t true. Kissing Myrddin had just been a means to an end for Arthur. It had meant nothing.

He pulled the pillow over his head and breathed, tried to rid himself of the angry embarrassment now that it had taken over from the longing. He could have happily slept for another month if he’d known he wouldn’t start dreaming again. The bed was soft, and the blankets were warm, and he didn’t want to get up, not really. But he couldn’t stay here. He didn’t want to keep dreaming of things that weren’t true. He had to see the Elders with Morgana, to find out what they had decided. And he was not going to give Arthur the satisfaction of seeing him stay in his chambers.

Myrddin was going to behave as though nothing had happened. He’d see how Arthur liked that. That Arthur likely wouldn’t care, given that it had meant nothing to him, crossed his mind, and he pushed the thought away almost instantly. He would not mope. There were more important things than Arthur at stake. His memories and the lives of those that had been lost. And more than likely, if he was not vigilant, his own life.

No. Arthur’s strange ways did not matter in the grand scheme of things.

He dragged himself out of bed and back into the black clothes. He went to the bathroom and washed his face, kicking the pile of Arthur’s clothes and sopping towel over to the corner in frustration. This was stupid. This shouldn’t be getting to him like this. Arthur would be just fine today. So Myrddin owed it to himself to be the same.

He went back to the bed where he pulled his brown boots on over the strong, black trousers, then went to the door, ready to knock for Morgana and check if she was ready to leave, too. He only hoped she’d not heard anything from last night.

He opened the door to a surprised-looking Gwaine who’d been about to knock, apparently, for he lowered his hand almost as soon as he came face to face with Myrddin. Once he had stopped looking puzzled, Myrddin saw that he looked as though he had slept about as well as him. He frowned, sympathetic. Although, as it turned out, Gwaine’s sleeplessness was down to very real problems rather than fabricated ones like Myrddin’s.

“They’ve been arguing,” Gwaine said, gravely. “Most of the night, they’ve been in there, arguing. I know I’m not meant to say a word about what goes on in there,” he added, rubbing a tired hand over his face, clearly fed up with the situation, “But I have to say something. I don’t even know that they’ll come to a decision today.”

“They’ve not made their minds up yet?” Myrddin asked, and it made sense, he thought, but that didn’t make him any happier with the news. Yes, it was an important decision that they were making, to potentially risk lives in the pursuit of people they had thought dead, of people for whom the only proof they had of being still alive was that Myrddin was. But there were seven of them, he supposed. Seven people of different minds who were bound to disagree. Some might want to go after them, where others might think it safer to leave things as they were.

“They haven’t,” Gwaine confirmed with a shrug of his shoulders.

“…I’ve got a picture that the police gave me,” Myrddin said then, only just remembering it as he spoke. It was in his wallet which he had stupidly left in the jeans he’d been wearing the day before. “It’s of the man they think started the fire I escaped from. I don’t know him, but if they see a photo of him, maybe it will make this all seem more real, maybe it will make them understand that the threat of this is real for them? It might make them act if only to protect the sorcerers left.”

“It can’t hurt,” said the other man with a shrug. “I’ll let you and Morgana in to speak with them. They’re expecting you anyway and Morgana’s already up. She said she wouldn’t meet the Elders without you.”

So, this was it. He would try and sway these Elders a final time if only because he had to leave. Wouldn’t Gaius be worried for him? He and Arthur had vanished. Unless he assumed that something had happened with him and Arthur. Something like what had happened last night. Red faced, he took the opportunity to turn from Gwaine and fetch his wallet from the pile in the bathroom, then, when he’d calmed down some, he joined him out in the corridor.

“Are you alright?” Gwaine asked him as they walked from the east wing towards the centre of the castle where the council chambers were. Morgana was already stood outside the heavy doors, looking over at Gwaine and Myrddin with a frown.

“I’m fine,” Myrddin said quietly, not about to go into all that had happened the night before. He almost felt ashamed of it, of what he had believed.

“Where’s Arthur?” Morgana asked as they came to a stop before her, even standing on her tiptoes and craning her head to see over their shoulders lest he was just behind them.

“Asleep, I think,” said Gwaine with a  shrug.

“I thought he was going to come in with us.”

“I knocked, but there was no answer, so I didn’t go in. He might have been naked and I really don’t need to see that.”

Myrddin tried his best not to flush and instead busied himself with checking his pocket to see that he had his wallet still. He wondered at Arthur’s absence, but decided not to dwell on it. Arthur was probably avoiding him. It wouldn’t surprise him if it happened to be the case. And probably, the only reason for that was that he didn’t want Myrddin to shout at him around the others. He probably didn’t want the others to know what he’d done to find out if Myrddin was a mortal. He was probably as ashamed of his actions as Myrddin was of his reaction. He tried not to scowl at that, did his best to look impassive as he looked up.

“I’m sure he’ll join us later,” he said rather than tell Morgana exactly what he thought of her brother.

“He’ll have to if he wants to get back Above,” she said, shrugging. “But let him sleep for now. It’s best, really.”

“He could do with some beauty sleep, anyway. Are you ready?” Gwaine asked then, rather than continuing the discussion on the mortal’s sleeping habits. Although, perhaps that was more to do with it being unimportant when compared to everything else than because he was at all prejudiced towards him for what he’d been born as. Gwaine didn’t seem the type, really. He was simply kind and friendly and always up for a joke. Arthur’s opposite, really. Well, almost. Arthur was happy enough to laugh and joke, but not often. He seemed too concerned with the way others perceived him, really. It was almost sweet.

Enough. He couldn’t keep thinking about Arthur. Not like that. He had to remember the way he had treated him the night before, how insensitive he had been, how he had taken advantage just for some information that he probably could have had without hurting Myrddin in the process if he had just asked directly.

“Ready,” he said, giving a smile as though he were fine, as though there was nothing wrong with him.

Gwaine slipped into the council chamber ahead of them, and for a moment, Morgana was stood with Myrddin.

“Black suits you, you know,” she said, looking at him with a glance out of the corner of her eye.

He looked down at himself in surprise, having forgotten that he was wearing yet more clothes that didn’t belong to him.

“Will they mind me borrowing them?” he wanted to know, happy for the distraction.

“No, they’re there for people to have if they need them. And considering you were wearing the jumper I bought Arthur for his birthday last year, I think you need them. Anyway, they’ll keep you safe.”

“Are these magic too, then?” he asked in surprise. There had been the sense of something that had made him think the fabric strong without really knowing, but that even sorcerers’ clothing should be imbued with magic was amazing to him.

“Kind of,” said Morgana with a smile. “They’ll protect you from most things, like knife punctures, fire, even bullets. There used to be dragons in the world, a long time ago now. There are none now, of course, but sorcerers of the time studied them and learned the secrets of their armoured hides. They created magic, inspired by what they had learned, that would make any fabric impenetrable, as though it were made of dragon hide without actually being made of it, obviously. These,” she said, giving a tug to the sleeve of Myrddin’s jacket, “Are made of that fabric.”   

“Why black?”

“It lets us hide, blend with shadows, and it looks good, doesn’t it?”

He bit his lip on a laugh and shook his head at her as the doors opened and they were beckoned into the council chamber.

Once again, the seven Elders were sat in the same order as they had been before.

And Gwaine had been right. They were arguing in hushed whispers even as Morgana and Myrddin approached them.

Myrddin strained his too-big ears in an attempt at hearing what they were saying, but they were clearly used to keeping things quiet. They had appearances to uphold, after all.

“Have you made a decision?” Morgana asked them, and even Myrddin felt the offence that the Elders took at not being addressed properly.

Elder Gorlois felt it most keenly, it seemed, for he levelled a gaze at her as scathing as any Morgana had ever given Arthur. She was certainly his daughter.

“The Elders are yet to make a decision,” Elder Vivienne said at his side, for Gorlois seemed in no mood to speak to Morgana when she was behaving in such a way as did not befit the daughter of an Elder.

“I’ve got something that might help you make a choice,” Myrddin said, then ducked his head as eyes turned to him. Here he was, dressed like them, yet he wasn’t observing their customs, wasn’t offering them the respect that he was supposed to show. “When I was in the hospital, the police, the… the mortal police, I suppose,” he said, frowning a bit because it seemed strange to him to refer to them like this, “Came to see me and tell me what they were doing to find the one who had started the fire they pulled me from. I don’t know who called the police originally, I don’t know how they saved me, really, or who found me, but they had a photograph of their primary suspect, of the one they thought had started the fire. They said he couldn’t have worked alone because of his age, but… well, Morgana told me that the fire started with magic, and I don’t suppose age matters much if you can carry fire in your hands like she can.”

Elder Vivienne’s eyes were bright as she watched Myrddin speak. He was nervous, but her interest, the hope she seemed to be showing, was enough to spur him on. If he could show them the perpetrator, the one who had wanted him dead, who had sent trolls after him since in an effort to stop him from reaching this point, then perhaps they might finally make their choice.

He fumbled with his wallet, reaching in past the notes he’d withdrawn before the attack, and drew out the folded photograph instead. He unfolded it slowly, then glanced over to Gwaine.

He was fairly certain that if he approached the Elders’ table that he’d either be burned out of reflex or, at the very least, be thrown out of the chambers, out of the castle, even, for the disrespect he’d shown. So, he handed Gwaine the photograph instead. Gwaine didn’t look at it since it wasn’t his place, however much he seemed to want to, and approached the table himself. He placed the photograph before them, face down, then backed away, head inclined some. It was strange to see him in this role in spite of the fact that he had likely had it for a long time. To see him offering such respect, to see him submit to the ways of this place was odd to Myrddin who had only seen him as playful and a little bit tired yet happy to get on with things.

He returned to Myrddin’s side, glancing over and giving him as supportive a smile as he could. Hopefully, this would cement their decision for them. Hopefully, they would realise that the man was a danger to their kind, that if he was not found and stopped soon, there may be no sorcerers left at all. And certainly no Council of Elders.

All went silent as Elder Gorlois turned the photograph over, his head bowed as he looked at it. The six other Elders leant in to see it, though those at Gorlois’ left didn’t see it for long as he passed it to Vivienne who let out a quiet gasp, then turned it over and all but slammed it onto the long table fast enough that no one else could see it.

“…what is it?” Myrddin began to ask only to be silenced by a harsh look from Elder Gorlois.

“You are wrong,” Gorlois said, his voice broking no argument in its conviction, “This man is none of your business and has nothing to do with those missing.”

At Myrddin’s side, Morgana frowned, but she didn’t say anything.

“He started the fire that almost killed me,” Myrddin protested, feeling that to was up to him to say something, to make them understand, because they had seemed to recognise the old man, and if they knew who he was, surely, they stood a chance of finding him? “The police saw him!”

“This man has nothing to do with it,” Gorlois said, but Myrddin wasn’t having it.

“He nearly killed me, and he’s sent trolls after me since to finish the job! You can’t tell me—” 

“This does not concern you,” Gorlois voice was a shout as he snatched the photograph and tore it up. Myrddin watched as the pieces fluttered to the ground, angry that they weren’t listening to him.

“We have made our decision. You are both to stay here indefinitely. It is too dangerous for you to venture Above. Gwaine,” Vivienne said gently, gesturing to Myrddin and Morgana.

“I’ll just clear this up for you,” Gwaine said, approaching the table to gather up the torn photograph which he slipped into his pocket, glancing behind him at the angry, almost frightened-looking, Elders. He herded Morgana and Myrddin out of the Council Chambers before Myrddin could do any more damage, he said.

“Gwaine, the police said—” Myrddin began, but Gwaine shook his head firmly, placing a finger to his own lips, the universal sign for ‘shut up, not here, not now’.

So, he fell silent as Gwaine shut the doors behind them and then led them down the corridor, away and to the east wing.

“They’ll know if I’ve not returned you to your chambers,” he said quietly, almost under his breath.

It was in Morgana’s chambers that they gathered, and once Gwaine shut the door, Morgana turned to him, hands held out.

“Show me the photo,” she demanded, and Gwaine, rather than ask how she knew he’d picked it up for her to see, handed it over.

Once she had pieced it together, once she could see the old man’s face, a gasp similar to the one that Elder Vivienne had given left Morgana. 

“That man,” she said, “He used to be here every week, for longer than I can remember… he used to tell the Elders what to do, he used to be one of them. That must be why they don’t want us to look into it. They know what he’s doing. They must know where they’re being kept,” she swallowed, almost looked as though she were about to cry, but she blinked away the tears before that could happen, shaking her head as she looked to them both, “He used to help them. Used to solve everything for them. This is who my father used to answer to, I… they know who he is. This means he took Mordred, and they let him, I—” she shook her head, frowning and giving the shreds of the photo back to Gwaine. She didn’t need to look at it any more. “Myrddin, we have to leave. We have to get out and find them.”

“You think they’re on his side?” Myrddin asked, though, with the reaction Gorlois had given to the photo, with the way Elder Vivienne and the others had behaved, as though running scared, perhaps it was true. He reached out to squeeze Morgana’s hand gently. “We’ll find them,” he promised, though he didn’t know where they would start looking.

“Are we leaving the City?” Gwaine asked, and Morgana, after looking at him for a moment, nodded. She might have smiled in thanks for his support had she not just learned a terrible truth about her father.

“We have to. They’ll keep us here otherwise, happy to let people keep disappearing, and whatever they’re doing to the sorcerers being abducted will keep happening, and Mordred—”

Gwaine reached over and pulled her into a close embrace barely a moment before she began to cry. It was all too much.

“So, where do we start?” he asked Myrddin who fell silent in thought.

“Well… Morgana said she went to my home. I need to let Gaius know that I’m alright, that I’m still alive, and I need to… well, I can’t tell him what’s happening, but I can make some sort of excuse, I’m sure. But maybe we should go to where… to where I lived. Before the fire. Before it burned down. And we could speak with PC du Lac. He won’t be able to help us with the missing sorcerers, probably, but he’ll be able to tell us something about the old man, won’t he?”

“Good idea,” Morgana said, sniffing and wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand before stepping away from Gwaine. She took deep breaths to calm down.

“Are you alright?” Myrddin had to ask.

“Not really, but crying’s not going to help us,” she said.

“Morgana, can I talk to you?” Arthur asked, stood on the threshold, having opened the door without knocking, freezing when he saw the three of them all gathered there without him. He looked to Myrddin first, swallowed, then tried to pretend as though he’d done nothing of the sort.

It hurt for a moment, for just a breath, but there were more important things going on. More important than Arthur, he told himself. Now, not only were there sorcerers vanishing, but the Elders of the City Below seemed to know who was behind it, and rather than apprehend them, they were willing to behave as though it weren’t happening and hide. They were prepared for the old man to just get away with it. It was as though they were behind it themselves, as though they didn’t care. As though they were just as guilty.

There was corruption within the City Below in the form of the Elders. And Morgana had been betrayed by her father. They cared so little, it seemed, that Elder Vivienne and Elder Gorlois had allowed their son to go missing. Or perhaps they knew the old man and were just too scared to do anything. If that were the case, it would at least make sense for them to tell Morgana to remain within the castle.

It was only then that Arthur noticed his sister crying and approached. He didn’t hug her as Gwaine had done because it wasn’t in his nature, really, but he stood close and reached out a hand that he placed on her shoulder. He squeezed gently, offered a small smile, then asked what had happened.

The only reason Arthur didn’t know was that he’d been hiding out lest Myrddin make a scene, Myrddin thought, then bit his lip with a frown, surprised at his own upset, his own bitterness that he really ought to let go of in light of what had happened. He’d talk to Arthur later, if he insisted on coming along in all this, in trying to keep his sister safe. He would clear the air between them as much as he could. Even though it hadn’t been his fault. But he couldn’t keep on like that. 

As Morgana went to pack herself a bag ready for a prolonged stretch of time Above, Gwaine explained what had happened while Arthur had been absent.


	10. Chapter Nine: The Escape

Chapter Nine 

The Escape 

They couldn’t leave by the power that Morgana had used to get them to the City Below. Not in the castle, at any rate, Gwaine explained as they waited for night to fall. The Elders were powerful; that was the reason they were the Elders. It was why they were the final word among sorcerers. Quite simply put, they held the power, both magical and political. What Morgana had said before about aiming for the castle yet being forced to land elsewhere was an entirely normal practice for the Elders. Currently, they were blocking magical passage to and from the castle, apparently anticipating that they may try and leave that way.

But they didn’t need magic. Not yet, anyway. All they needed was darkness and to slip out using an entrance to the castle that, Gwaine had told Myrddin once he’d returned from seeing to the Elders, had once been used by servants in the old days.  And while Gwaine had to serve the Elders still, while they thought he was seeing to it that Myrddin, Arthur and Morgana were staying put and causing no trouble, here he was, doing quite the opposite. There wasn’t a single moment where Myrddin worried that Gwaine might not really be on their side. Gwaine’s loyalty was to goodness and his friends. And somehow, in barely a day, he had adopted both Myrddin and Arthur into his life as such. Arthur wasn’t thrilled with that, of course, but that didn’t matter much, and Myrddin was thrilled enough for them both.

And as far as speaking with Arthur went, there hadn’t been time to be alone, mainly because Arthur kept giving him looks as though he’d been personally wounded and was keeping a wide berth. But it was alright. Myrddin just didn’t want to bring up his own stupidity around the others.

And yet that didn’t stop Myrddin from looking at him from the corner of his eye, didn’t stop him from thinking about the kiss, even if it had been a sham. A means to an end.

He was subtle about it, he thought, and luckily, or unluckily, really, considering, the others were too preoccupied with the Council’s betrayal to notice. Even Arthur was. He understood the severity of the situation, and offered his sister his support as much as he was able, promised that they would find Mordred. That they would save him and stop whoever was behind this.

Arthur didn’t notice Myrddin’s eyes on him for he made a point of not looking in his direction. Of pretending that Myrddin wasn’t there. It wouldn’t have been so bad had Arthur apologised, but that, too, seemed beyond him.

As the night drew in and they waited in a tense silence only punctuated by brief, cheering visits from Gwaine, Morgana went through the plan that they would have to undertake in order to leave.

As far as guards went, they were apparently a real threat here. Although, foolishly, the Elders had chosen Gwaine as their primary guard. They had even asked that he report back to them on their behaviour, he had said, though of course, everything he told the Elders was false. Morgana was not the only one who had been betrayed by the Elders’ inaction. Gwaine had been, too.  

He had worked for them since he was young. His father had died for some reason that Myrddin didn’t need to know, Morgana had said, and rather than leave Gwaine to fend for himself, Gorlois and Vivienne had helped Gwaine’s mother, had offered her all that they could and, when she had passed and Gwaine was barely thirteen, they offered him work and board in the castle. They had been kind to him. That they were now capable of turning their backs on their own was unbelievable to Gwaine, yet believe it, he must.

After all, if Elder Gorlois and Elder Vivienne did not care about their own son, then it would hardly matter to them what Morgana and Gwaine thought of them. They were far more concerned with keeping a villain happy.

So, foolishly, Gwaine was the Elders’ primary line of defence in keeping Morgana, Myrddin and Arthur in the castle. He would tell them, he said, that they had each retired for the night, but that they had not gone quietly. He would tell them that Morgana had demanded she speak with Gorlois come morning, as would be expected of her.

When Gwaine returned from passing that message on to the Elders, he was smiling grimly.

“Gorlois wanted me to tell you that he’ll not see you in the morning, Morgana, but that you’re welcome to dine with him in the evening if you’ve calmed down,” he said, and it was supposed to be a joke, yet no one did so much as smile. Even his own expression was a stony one.

Morgana shook her head mutely and returned to counting down the moments until they could leave.

Night fell and hours passed until Arthur’s watch informed them that it was ten o'clock at night.

It was time to go.

Morgana shouldered her backpack, pulling it tight enough that it wouldn’t make a sound as they walked, making sure that it wouldn’t catch on anything.  
Arthur had been made to change. Not by the Elders, but by Gwaine. Much as Arthur seemed to dislike him, the animosity was not something that Gwaine felt in turn. He was far more interested in their getting out of the place safely. Arthur could not hope to get out of the castle unnoticed when his clothes stank of troll and he stuck out like a stubbed toe in bright red nail polish, Gwaine had said. Morgana had agreed, and even Myrddin had shrugged, pretending it didn’t matter to him.

So, Arthur had briefly returned to his room and showered. He’d bundled his clothes up and left them there, dressing instead in the same strong, black material as Myrddin now wore.

As the four of them crept through the darkness of the stone hallways now, they went almost entirely unseen.

Morgana had been right when she had said that the darkness of the clothes let them hide, that it let them blend with the shadows when they needed to.

Hoods drawn up, they could have been anyone. Certainly, Arthur and Myrddin could be, for no one really knew them even if the Elders had seen them.

Somehow, they made it out into the castle courtyard without incident. Myrddin had expected there to be guards, had expected someone to stop them. He glanced over at Gwaine with newfound appreciation as they made their slow, careful way to the narrow bridge that would lead them out to the streets. The Elders truly trusted him with keeping the three of them in check as though he had the same value as countless guards. He was important and they relied on him. But now, here Gwaine was, cutting ties with the people who had helped him when he had needed them, and betrayed every sorcerer in the City Below when solidarity should have been the most important weapon they had. He was not blindly loyal. He had chosen his side now based upon what was right. And the amount of respect that Myrddin had for that was immense. Gwaine was not loyal to them, but to their cause. To finding the people who needed them.  
They had reached the path that ran by the river when they first encountered a guard.

Gwaine knew him, though evidently did not trust him, for he approached, leaving the other three in shadows. He shared a joke with the man, something indistinct that had the other’s guard drop for just a moment as he laughed. Then Gwaine struck. Sort of. He did not place his hands on the guard, but rather, he struck out at the air which, to Myrddin’s eyes, rippled in shock waves that sent the other man flying off his feet and into a crumpled heap. Gwaine jerked a hand in their direction, and for long moments, Myrddin didn’t respond. He was too busy looking at the guard, wondering what it was that had just happened. It took Morgana pulling at his arm to finally jolt him into movement, and he followed as quickly as he was able.

“Won’t the guard wake up?” he asked in an undertone as the hurried along, following the river as they had the first time. They had to get a good distance away from the castle before they could get back Above without being detected or stopped, Morgana had said.

“Not for a while,” Gwaine said, and he sounded certain enough of that fact that Myrddin simply took it as read.

“What did you do?” he wanted to know, however, intrigued. Arthur might have satisfied himself that Myrddin was but a mortal, but for some reason, he felt a pull towards magic whenever he saw it. He felt like it wasn’t something strange, as though it weren’t dangerous, but rather, a living being filled with warmth and beauty and he wanted nothing more than to learn all there was to know about it. Even if he did not have magic, even if he was not a sorcerer like Gwaine and Morgana, he hoped that he could learn something from them.

“I displaced the air between us,” Gwaine said, looking over at Myrddin as they walked.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know how everyone else does it, but I find it’s easiest to think of the air between me and whatever I want to move as a solid object,” he said, “I find the surface of it,” he lifted a hand, palm out which he pressed against the air, stopping in the fast tracks they had been making because even if they were running, they apparently had enough time for this. Myrddin wondered if Gwaine was showing off. Or if he perhaps hadn’t really thought this through. Or even if it were both. Probably both. Still, Myrddin stopped walking, as did Morgana and Arthur. Morgana rolled her eyes at her friend while Arthur looked briefly confused, then annoyed, and he was quite right, really, given that they were supposed to be getting to safety.

“Once I find the surface, once I feel it pressing against my hand,” he said, catching Myrddin’s eye with a grin, then nodding over to one of the tall lamp posts that illuminated the darkness around them.

“You can’t knock that over,” Morgana said, and for a moment, she sounded disbelieving, as though she couldn’t fathom that Gwaine might have power enough to do something like that.

And that was how Gwaine took it to mean, too.

“And once I can feel it,” he said to Myrddin, and he gave Morgana a grin because here he was, about to do something truly impressive at a time when they ought to have been concentrating on getting away. As though it were appropriate. If he had a downfall, it was that he was a little bit of a clown. It seemed as though he could not help himself. He just wanted to show off and make people smile when all they were meant to do was be serious. It was a shortcoming, yes, but a charming one. “I push,” he said, doing just that.

Myrddin was certain that he saw the air ripple and move. He watched as Gwaine’s eyes flashed with gold, and the moment that the wall of air crashed into the lamp post was one that took his breath away.

As it turned out, Morgana had actually thought that she couldn’t believe that Gwaine could be so stupid.

The lamp post shook, uprooted by the force of the magical blow that had been dealt to it. As it slowly but surely topped backwards, the golden light that had been shining from behind the glass of the lamp went out.

It wasn’t the only one.

As they watched, the lights went out, one by one, plunging the City Below into impenetrable darkness that rippled out from the one that had fallen until there was naught to see by but a few flickering lights in the distance. The homes of those that lived here. Myrddin didn’t have time to wonder how their homes stayed lit when the rest of the City had gone out before one of their number gathered their wits enough to speak.

“You absolute idiot,” Morgana hissed in the dark.

Shouts of panic could be heard in the distance. When the lights had begun to go out, Myrddin had heard a scream of fear that made his breath catch. These people had a right to be scared, though. They had very real things to fear that the Elders were purposefully keeping from them. A few lights going out was nothing compared to what was really going on here.

“Well, at least they won’t be able to see us?” Gwaine asked, a bit of a hopeful joke, but he only was doing his best to make light of the situation without any to speak of.

“You had to show off, didn’t you?” came Arthur’s scathing remark. He had been quiet, for the most part, almost reserved. “Morgana, we can’t wait until we’re a mile from the castle, we’ll have to leave now.”

Had it been any other time, Myrddin would have inquired as to how Morgana had managed to summon fire into her bare hands, how it didn’t burn her. But after Gwaine’s little demonstration, it was probably best not to. She held the flame she had created away from her body, touched her fingertips to it, feeding it until it grew and she could see the others.

“Gwaine, take Myrddin. I’ll take Arthur. We’ll go to Gaius,” she said.

“You know Gaius?” Myrddin asked in surprise, but Arthur wasn’t done with his outrage either.

“Gaius knows?”

“Of course he does. He and Alice come from pretty big families here,” Gwaine said, stepping over to Myrddin and casually wrapping an arm about him.

“They’ve still not really forgiven them for wanting to live around mortals, but Gaius just wants everyone to coexist happily.”

“Is no one human?” was the last thing Myrddin heard Arthur ask. His blue eyes, looking a bit desperately at Myrddin was the last image in his mind as the tendrils of white smoke wrapped about him again, as he felt himself being torn to pieces and whisked away on a breeze that did not exist in the City Below.


	11. Chapter Ten: The Cottage

Chapter Ten 

The Cottage

"You were lucky that you were far away enough from the Elders to have arrived in one piece," said Gaius once he had given Gwaine a drink of water.

As it turned out, travelling like that made Gwaine dizzy. While he was happy to show off his control over air, travelling by it was another matter entirely. When he and Myrddin had emerged on Gaius' gravel drive, narrowly missing the 2CV, the very first thing that Gwaine had done was vomit. It had not been pretty or dignified, but Myrddin, grateful for the friendship he had shown and genuinely sorry for him, rubbed his back sympathetically as Gwaine wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking grim.

"Actually," he said to Gaius now, looking a little bit green around the edges, but otherwise fine, "I don't think the Elders were looking out for me. I don't think they knew I'd be with them. They've had an eye out for Morgana's signature, but to try and scramble mine… they trust me too much."

And once more, it was clear to Myrddin just how hurt Gwaine must have been, to have his trust broken by the ones who had cared for him.

Gaius squeezed Gwaine's shoulder, then turned on Myrddin who had honestly thought that he had escaped worrying the doctor without comeuppance.

It turned out to be wishful thinking.

"Myrddin, you truly astound me. You went out to buy shaving cream and clothes, and manage to go missing for days, you and Arthur both, worrying us so terribly that we have been phoning around other hospitals in the area just to be sure that you've not been admitted to one. And now, here you are, turning up again, not with Arthur, but with the Elders' page, and you haven't even managed to shave. Well. At least Alice shan't say you've not found new clothes, though the armaments of a warlock were not perhaps what she had in mind." In spite of all that he was saying, though, Gaius was smiling, and that alone was enough to make Myrddin feel relaxed.

"I don't know the sorcerer, or I'd have mentioned it before. And no, Gwaine, I don't need to see the photo again," he said, holding up a hand when the young man seemed liable to dig it out again. "Perhaps speaking with Police Constable du Lac would be wise."

"That was what I thought. If he's found anything out that could help us, it's surely better than nothing," Myrddin said when the house phone rang.

Alice was the one to answer it as she ceased fussing around them both, her left hand leaning on the telephone table as she cradled the phone in her right.

"Hello?" she asked, then smiled, "Arthur. Yes, yes, he's here, but I see you didn't do as I asked, he still has the terrible beard even though I— What? Yes… yes. No, Arthur, do not move her," she said, suddenly stern and frowning. "Well, describe where you are to me," she said, then said his name a few times, enough to interrupt him, "Don't panic. I know where you are. I'll fetch Gwaine with me to help."

"Where are we going?" Gwaine asked, ready to help in spite of how drained he had appeared moments before.

"They're on the outskirts of the city," Alice said, pulling down her coat from the peg while picking up a doctor's bag not dissimilar to Gaius' from beside the doctor's. "Morgana has lost consciousness. Fighting the strength of the Elders took its toll on her. Come on," she said, picking up the car keys and gesturing to Gwaine who followed her out to the car without question.

But Myrddin had questions.

"Shouldn't you go, Gaius?" he asked, turning to him, concerned that Morgana would need him, and worried that he was staying here when he ought to be helping her.

"No, Alice is far more skilled in magical healing than I am," Gaius said with a warm, supportive smile.

Myrddin's stomach took that opportunity to growl as loud as the angriest of beasts.

"When did you last eat?" the old doctor asked, concern and the mildest annoyance on his features.

"The hospital," said Myrddin. And he felt it. He hadn't been allowed to eat the cake Alice had given him two days past, and the Elders had offered them nothing. He had only had water thanks to the taps in the bathroom they'd offered him.

"That was stupid of you," Gaius said, disregarding the fact that there had been no opportunity, that it had not been Myrddin's choice. "Now, not another word until you've eaten."

Until that moment, they had been stood in the cottage foyer. Now, Gaius took Myrddin into the smoke-free kitchen, sat him down at the table and went over to the oven.

As it turned out, contrary to Alice's talents in the kitchen, Gaius was actually rather skilled at food preparation. He didn't do much, simply prepared a bowl of yoghurt with cut up fruit stirred in, placed it in front of Myrddin along with a pint glass of water and told him to have the lot, that it was the best thing he could have when he'd not been able to eat for such a long time.

Myrddin drained the water quickly, thirstier than he'd known himself to be. Gaius sat across the round table from him and waited until he had begun eating. When he was satisfied that Myrddin had eaten enough, he finally spoke.

"I had an idea you might be mixed up in something, Myrddin, when you first opened your eyes," he said, thoughtful.

"You said they were gold," Myrddin remembered, looking up. He stopped eating for a moment, however hungry he was, until Gaius' quirked brow had him flushing and getting back to the task he had been given.

"Yes," the doctor said with a nod, "I suspected in that moment that you possessed magic."

"Morgana and Gwaine, their eyes turn gold whenever they perform magic, but… they're both marked. I'm not. I couldn't—"

"The mark is optional, Myrddin."

"Do you have it?"

"I don't. Alice does, however. Usually, the mark if offered when a sorcerer comes of age when their magic is at its most developed. I left the City Below when I was a young man, barely a few months before I came of age, so I was never offered the mark. Alice…" he smiled, fond of this memory, it seemed, "She followed me here. Just for a visit, but she never returned to them. They have truly lost someone valuable in her, but their loss is my gain. She is a skilled healer and even now, sorcerers still venture here in need of her aid." He gave another smile, "I am confident that Morgana will be fine. I know that you're worried, but Alice was right. It will just be magical exhaustion. She will need rest."

"For how long?"

He fell silent again, shy at being given a look for not finishing his food as he had been told. He picked up his spoon and began eating again. He felt as though he were starving. Gaius was right.

As he ate, it gave him some time to think. To ponder on just what it was that Gaius had said. He had assumed when he had first seen Myrddin awake that he had magic in him. He so wished that he could remember. He wished for the sudden rush of self assurance that he felt when he remembered things that had happened over the past week, when he reminded himself that remembering them was a sign that he wasn't hopeless. He wanted that moment of confidence, of knowing something for certain. But he just could not remember. He frowned to himself, but kept on eating under Gaius' watchful gaze.

For how fantastic would it be if he could really do magic, if he were to have the ability that Gwaine and Morgana had? He was sure his eyes were bright with the thought of it if not with magic itself.

And all this wonder that his life might have been, had he been one of them, all the things he might have been able to remember… it had all been taken from him by the old man.

He placed his spoon down carefully in the bowl, finished now, although Gaius didn't seem to think so, as he stood and went to prepare toast on the stove of the Stanley.

"Gaius… I know you'll have the same question a hundred times once the others come back, but I have to know. Have you really never even heard of this old man? The Elders told us that he was none of our business, and Elder Gorlois tore the photograph to shreds himself… they didn't want us to see him again. And Morgana said she had seen him, that she knew for a fact that he had advised the Elders countless times, and a man like that, a man with his hooks into the leaders of the City Below… they're keeping quiet for him, they are protecting him. If you've ever even heard of him, you could help us find him."

"Are you sure you aren't simply interested because he is the one responsible for the state of your memory?" Gaius asked, his back to Myrddin, but even without seeing his face, he knew the expression on it. It was one that knew all things without his needing to say them, that of someone who cared what he did and wasn't at all amused that he was putting himself wilfully into danger.

"…I want to know who I am. You're right. But Morgana has saved my life. Gwaine has been kind to me. Arthur— I care about them all, Gaius, and their world is being stolen from beneath them. Your world. What… what might have been my world. And I have to help. I have to find this man."

The doctor sighed as he turned over the slices of bread, watching them brown under his careful watch.

"Most sorcerers have heard of the warlock, Myrddin," he said, looking up for a moment and staring at the tiled wall, unseeing, lost in memory. "Aged, yet undying. I have never seen him with my own eyes before Police Constable du Lac showed you the photo, although obviously, I've only today realised that it must be him, based on what you've said. I always thought he was a rumour. It was said that the Elders answered to him and him alone, that he advised them and that they listened to all that he told them. He has been around for longer than the current Elders, according to legend. I never thought for a moment that it might be true… or that he would be behind something so terrible. But this would explain their reaction to the photograph you showed them, Myrddin. The Elders listen to that man, the Ancient One, he used to be called. And now, to hear of them defend his name by telling the four of you to leave well enough alone… they are still assisting him. The Ancient One is the one behind the disappearances and the Elders, out of fear, are protecting him."

"So you agree that he must be found?"

"To stop him from harming others, to stop him from kidnapping any more sorcerers than he already has, to find out what his ends are… yes," Gaius said. There was a brief silence but for the sound of a dough scraper against the stove top as the doctor removed the toasted bread and plated it up, yet more quiet but for a brief hiss of pain at the heat of the bread as it was buttered. He was cutting it into squares when he next spoke. "I do agree with you. But I do not want you seeking him out, Myrddin. He tried to kill you, of that much we can be certain. I do not want you to die in search of your memories, for what use will they be to you if you are dead?"

Myrddin bowed his head. Gaius was right again. He had to keep himself safe.

"I cannot make you take care of yourself, Myrddin, not when you have involved yourself in this mess before I could have hoped to stop you. But please, do not reveal yourself to this man if you find him. The only thing you all need to concentrate on is finding the missing sorcerers and, if you can, his purpose in kidnapping them in the first place. And since the Elders are shielding him, you will need to take your findings to the people along with those sorcerers that remember what has happened to them. You will convince no one alone."

"Then I have to see Police Constable du Lac. The only place I can think of where I might find some answer of where to start looking is at the place I was found. Gaius, do you know where that is?"

"I don't," he replied as he set the plate of toast in front of Myrddin and gestured to it. Eat, he said, without needing words.

Myrddin did as he'd not been told.

"How do I get into contact with him?" he asked, mouth full of toast. Given the state of his memory, he would have thought it forgivable that he forget etiquette. Apparently not.

"I have his direct phone number. I reported that you were gone, and he asked that I contact him in case you came back before they found you. And you'll be able to reassure Guinevere that you are safe and well at the same time, please, although do not, I repeat, do not tell her about all of this. Do not tell the police constable about this either."

"I know I've no memory, but I'd like to think I'm not quite that stupid, Gaius," Myrddin said with a small smile once he'd swallowed the mouthful he was on. He gave the sweetest smile he could when Gaius gave him a nod of approval for that. "They'll think I'm mad, and rightly so. I only believe all of this myself because I've nothing to base my beliefs on, I think. That, and I've seen it with my own eyes."

"Good. I'm pleased you've some sense in that head of yours," Gaius said warmly, prodding the younger man gently in the forehead and patting his shoulder before he went to the front door at the sound of car tyres on gravel. He opened it, telling Myrddin to stay put, but when had he ever listened?

Myrddin abandoned his toast in the kitchen, went through the living room and peered into the foyer. He could see outside, see Gaius opening the door to the back seat of the car at Gwaine's request, watched a blond head fumble about with something that was most likely a seatbelt, then watched as Gwaine lifted a pale, limp Morgana from the seat. He cradled her in his arms and made for the cottage, careful about getting her through the front door before he was off up the stairs. Myrddin made to follow him, worried for her, worried that he'd never seen her in such a state, and frightened that she might be unwell, that the Elders had seriously hurt her.

A hand on his shoulder stopped him.

Arthur's.

The blond stood there, looking worn out and tired and worried, but that he would stop Myrddin going after her when Arthur, of all of them, was bound to be the most concerned for her wellbeing, for her health, for her safety, served to reassure him some.

"She's alright," Arthur said, and Myrddin, rather than shove him away as he'd done the last time they'd had any contact, reached up to squeeze his hand instead.

"Yes, she is alright," came Alice's voice from the front door as she wiped her feet outside, then stepped in, taking her boots off and changing to slippers. "But she is exhausted, magically speaking. And I am sure that all of you must be almost as tired. Now, Gwaine has taken her upstairs, and I'll be going up in a moment to check that she's comfortable. As for the three of you, you'll be going nowhere tonight. I want you to rest before you go any further on this. You'll be no use to anyone if you can hardly stand. You've had a difficult time of it, and I'll hear no argument."

"Done," Arthur said, agreeing with that wholeheartedly.

Then Myrddin remembered that he still hadn't forgiven Arthur and took his hand away from his. He couldn't go on with being angry with him, knew he needed to speak with him, but he'd yet to have an apology, and until that moment, he'd not be touching him, not be letting his stupid heart beat faster just because he was close to him. He'd been kissed as a means to an end, he had to remind himself of that.

He stepped back from him and away from the stairs, smiling a bit out of reflex when Alice began to make her way up the stairs, pausing only on the first step to peck Myrddin's cheek.

"She's right," Gaius said, ushering them through into the kitchen where he sat them both down, going back to the Stanley to make yet more toast because he said that he didn't expect that Alice would be ready to cook for a few hours yet. At least, not until she was satisfied that Morgana was entirely stable.

Myrddin, for his part, did absolutely everything he could do stop himself from looking at Arthur. Instead, he concentrated on eating the remains of his toast that had begun to go cold as it always did if one took their concentration away from it for more than a moment. Toast was temperamental in that way.

Then he was done eating and watched Gaius instead, looking on as he put jam on Arthur's toast rather than butter without asking him what he liked on it. It occurred to him then that Arthur knew Gaius well. He didn't know why he'd not thought of it before, why he had just let the knowledge sit unconsidered at the back of his mind, but he knew then, looking at Gaius, that he had been a large part of Arthur's life. And Arthur had spent a great portion of his life, therefore, being lied to, or, at the very least, he had spent a great portion of his life not being told the entire truth by the ones he loved. Could he really blame him for the way he had behaved in the chambers? Yes, yes he could. Because decency was something that shock shouldn't eradicate, just as memory loss shouldn't mean that Myrddin could forget his manners.

As Arthur began to eat and Gaius sat down with them to chomp down his own slice of toast, Gwaine and Alice entered.

Alice went to the sink to wash her hands, affording a glance to all those she considered to be 'her boys' and shaking her head fondly.

"I think, given the time of night, that we'll be getting chips tonight," she said.

Of the four of them, Gaius was the only one to look disappointed.

Myrddin was familiar with chips from the hospital and was aware that he liked them, so he was happy enough with that choice.

"We aren't having macaroni cheese?" he asked his wife, looking rather forlorn. Given what he'd said about her cooking, it was quite sweet, really.

"Tomorrow," she promised, walking over and kissing his cheek. "Now, Morgana is asleep upstairs. She'll be right as rain in the morning. We'll get dinner, then you boys will be off to bed."

"I could go and get the food," Gwaine offered, somehow not doing so much as falter when Arthur gave him a look.

"You're not going," said the blond, as though the idea was absurd. "You'll probably try and pay them in fish scales or whatever it is that passes for money where you come from," he said, ignoring the rolling eyes and standing up. "I'll go. I know what everyone likes. You don't. You'd only ruin it."

"I could pay," Myrddin offered, remembering the money he'd taken from the bank what seemed weeks ago. Had it only been a few days?

"Well, that's settled. Myrddin, Arthur, off you pop."


	12. Chapter Eleven: The Chip Shop

Chapter Eleven 

The Chip Shop

The chip shop was on the corner, where all chip shops were in relation to all homes. Not too far and easily recognisable.

Arthur and Myrddin walked in silence but for their footsteps. It was almost uncomfortable, and not for the reasons the rest of their association had been. Not because Myrddin was trying to breathe and think straight and not squirm under Arthur's relentless stares. Not this time.

They both spoke at once.

"Arthur—"

"I'm sorry—"

"What?"

"I'm sorry," Arthur repeated, stopping just outside the brightly-lit chip shop.

"You're sorry," Myrddin repeated slowly. For just a moment, the part of him that still felt hurt and upset over what had happened wanted to tell him that sorry wasn't good enough, but Arthur interrupted him before he could say so.

"I should have… I could have…" he sighed, looking away from Myrddin as he'd been doing ever since the kiss, "I should have just asked you what you were," he said.

He'd thought that he was ashamed over what he'd done. Ashamed of kissing him. Myrddin had been right in some ways, but terribly wrong in others. Arthur was ashamed of the way he'd behaved, ashamed that he had done something stupid, that he had hurt him. Even as Myrddin watched him, Arthur turned blue eyes on him that looked as though they'd wished it had never happened, though not in the way that Myrddin had originally thought.

"I was scared that you weren't mortal," said Arthur, keeping his gaze carefully focused on his shoes now, as though he wouldn't look at the other man until he'd been forgiven. "I was scared of the danger that you were in, and worried that if you were like them, then you really would be stuck in the middle of all this. I had to know that you were mortal, that you'd be safe, that you'd not… that you wouldn't leave me alone in this."

"You kissed me because you were scared I was in danger," repeated Myrddin next, amazed at how stupid the words sounded the moment he said them.

"Yes!"

"And you wanted me to stay with you."

"So you'd not be hurt."

"…I have to ask, why kiss me to do it? What went through your mind that you thought it would work?"

"…it seemed the easiest way that I could check you were mortal, and I thought you'd want to me to stay—"

"There were easier ways to check than by kissing me, Arthur."

"I know—"

"I mean, you could have asked me."

"I know—"

"I would have even asked your help to find out if I was, if you'd just said you wanted to know because in all honesty, I was curious too."

"I know—"

"You could have even taken a look when I got out of the shower—"

"I did look when you got out of the shower."

"What?"

Arthur's cheeks had gone red as they'd spent the last few moments interrupting one another, as though he'd just realised what he had said.

"…I wanted to kiss you, ok? I wanted to," he said, cheeks burning as he kept his eyes away from Myrddin's out of embarrassment now rather than just shame. "I wanted to kiss you when I met you, and I wasn't thinking, I mean, I thought— I thought that I could sweep you off your feet and make sure you'd not be in danger all at once and I understood straight away that I'd done wrong, that you'd not have wanted a thing to do with me, because why would you, and I am sorry."

"I thought you'd kissed me just to check I was human," Myrddin said, a little bit shy, and who could blame him when Arthur had just tried to convince him of that fact again? Who could blame him of feeling a little bit confused when the blond claimed that he'd wanted to kiss him for the sake of kissing him and had thought to throw the other thing in there as an excuse to do just that?

"I kissed you because I wanted to, and then I thought that I didn't want you mixed up in this world we're learning about, I thought that I couldn't see you die because of it, so I had to check you'd be safe, somehow."

And the truth was out.

"But you sent me away, and I understand, you don't—"

"Oh, shut up, Arthur," Myrddin said, threading his fingers through his own hair nervously as he looked at the blond. "Of course I wanted— that was why I sent you away. I thought you'd used the kiss as a means to an end. That it meant nothing to you."

"It meant something," said Arthur quietly, and he began to approach Myrddin, to either kiss him or embrace him, the brunet didn't care, honestly, his skin thrumming with anticipation, itching to touch him, to show him he forgave him somehow, to kiss him again now that he knew it hadn't all been a great act on Arthur's part.

There were faces in the window of the chip shop, Myrddin noticed then, in the corner of his eye, and he glanced at them, then back to Arthur who was closer than he'd been before only to do a double take back at the faces.

Stood in the chip shop window were five teenaged girls. Four had their faces pressed to the glass while the fifth stood filming the two of them on her mobile phone. All five looked as though all their dreams were about to come true only to look disappointed that their quarry had realised they were being watched and were less than impressed by it.

Myrddin tried to laugh about it, to pretend not to be embarrassed that such an intimate moment was being intruded on without their noticing. Arthur, on the other hand, wasn't coping so well. A private person, from what Myrddin knew of him so far, being seen at his most vulnerable by anyone other than his intended was not his ideal. The redness crept up his neck as he spluttered, angry at the girls for their intrusion, and somehow, miraculously, he settled on simply giving them a thunderous look when Myrddin put a hand on his arm, hoping to calm him. All the evil look he gave the girls did was have them giggle at him. They had seen a softer side of him without his meaning to show it. Poor Arthur.

And what was worse was that they still had to go into the shop.

He wanted to hold Arthur's hand, to show him he wanted nothing more than to be close to him after he'd been told that he had been wanted after all, that the only reason Arthur hadn't brought it up sooner was fear of rejection, but somehow, with their audience, he didn't think the blond would appreciate it much. Instead, Myrddin shot him a smile and pushed open the glass door so that he could step up into the shop. It was warm inside, and the air was filled with the somehow comforting smell of chip fat. It was bright in here after the dark of the street outside, and he squinted out of reflex to let his eyes adjust as Arthur joined him, standing close to his side and resolutely ignoring the giggling teenagers.

Thankfully, the woman behind the till had seen nothing. She had been too busy wrapping orders in paper to notice anything outside of her shop.

When he caught her attention, Arthur first greeted the woman as though nothing at all odd had been going on outside, then placed the orders for four people in the time it would take most people to place just one. When it came to Myrddin's order, however, he faltered and turned to him.

"What do you eat?" he wanted to know.

"It sounds strange, but for now, anything at all. I've not really hated anything I've eaten yet," he said with a smile and a shrug. It was a fair enough question. All Arthur had seen him with in their short association with one another was a piece of cake he never got to eat and some toast a little while ago. It was hardly conclusive. "I'll have what you're having," he told him with a smile, not about to waste time pouring over the menu boards behind the woman at the counter.

She tapped their order into the till and told them the price which Myrddin paid, jumping in before Arthur could. He had promised he'd pay, after all. It had been the whole reason for his coming out, too.

As she called over to the cooks in a language that Myrddin didn't understand, Arthur pulled at the other man's arm to lead him over to the corner of the shop front where they waited for their order. The girls had their orders within the next few minutes, each holding a large, paper cone of chips as they left the shop, though not before the one with a phone had snapped a final photograph of the 'cute couple', beaming.

Then, before he'd even begun to think of the wait as long, their own order was ready in two plastic carrier bags, inside which each dinner was wrapped carefully in paper.

They walked close as they left the chip shop, bumping shoulders as they went, and every so often, Myrddin couldn't help but glance over at Arthur with a shy smile until Arthur apparently couldn't take it any more. They weren't far now. In fact, they could see the cottage from where they stood under the last street light before they reached it. The last part of the walk would be in darkness.

Arthur stopped under the orange glow of the street lamps, and Myrddin didn't get far before he, too, stopped.

"What's wrong?" he began to ask before he was silenced by the look on Arthur's face that he could only describe as predatory.

He swallowed and let out a breath he'd not known he was holding as the blond moved in close, apparently picking up from where they'd started earlier.

"I don't feel comfortable, really, around others, and Alice will fuss if she sees us," Arthur said, meaning it to explain his own shortcomings more than anything else. "But I don't want to have to wait until after dinner to be able to kiss you, I've waited long enough as it is."

Myrddin was about to reply, say he'd not intended on waiting when there was the flash of steel in the glow of the streetlight and a knife suddenly appeared at Arthur's neck, an arm encircling his chest to keep him still as a man Myrddin didn't recognise breathed into his ear. His eyes, glittering in the light, were flat, gold, and dull, almost lifeless.

"I hope you don't mind an audience of one, Pendragon," the man husked into his ear. Arthur, who was torn between keeping his fear a close kept secret and anger at being caught like this, stayed quiet. "Now, Wyllt," he said, focusing his dull gaze on Myrddin with a sneer as he pressed the knife that little bit closer to Arthur's skin, enough that the blond gasped and Myrddin's fists clenched. "You'll come quietly with me, and I'll let him live. Does that sound fair to you?" he asked.

"Let him go," Myrddin breathed, feeling something bubble inside him that wasn't just anger. There was something red hot, something that pulled at every cell of his body, that begged to be released, and he didn't know what it was, didn't understand it beyond the burning need to let whatever it was out.

"Give yourself up, and I'll see my way to doing what you want."

He didn't really notice it happening beyond his need to let it out, his desperation to see Arthur safe. The hilt of the knife, shining bright silver, began to glow, to turn red, then white as Myrddin released the angry heat within, so focused on the knife that he hardly noticed the man with the dull, golden eyes dropping it with a scream of pain as the scent of burning flesh filled the air. All he cared for was that Arthur fell forward into his arms, safe and unharmed.

"Touch him again, and I will kill you," Myrddin promised the attacker as he pushed Arthur behind him, determined to protect him and meaning every word while knowing, somehow, that what he was making was a promise rather than just a threat.

"Oh, I won't be the last. We'll get you, Wyllt," said the man, cradling his burned hand before he gave a stamp of his feet and vanished in a billowing, purple dust cloud.

"You have magic," Arthur panted, his hand at his neck where the knife had threatened to cut.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know. Gaius told me he suspected earlier, but I didn't— Arthur, please—"

And Arthur did something unexpected. He silenced Myrddin with a gentle kiss. When they parted, it was Myrddin's turn to check for marks. His neck was intact. The knife must have been blunt, for there was not even a scratch. For that, he could only be grateful as he smoothed disbelieving hands over Arthur's face, cupping his cheeks softly, then kissing him again because he had to.

"Thank you," Arthur said, breathless and a little bit wild eyed with what had just happened, "For saving me, Myrddin, thank you."

It was Myrddin who recovered his wits enough to grab up the fallen carrier bags, take Arthur's arm and hurry them back to the cottage before they could be ambushed again.

For the first time, as he rang the bell, Myrddin noticed symbols carved into the frame of the front door. He ran a curious finger over them, sensing that they were symbols intended for safety, symbols that kept people who intended ill things on those within out. He wondered that he had never seen them before.

Arthur rang the bell again, and that was the only sign he gave that he was afraid someone else might be coming after them.

Finally, Alice answered, and they both slipped in, shutting the door on the cold and anyone else that might be after them.

* * *

They ate quietly. And it was only once they had done so that Myrddin brought up what had happened outside. The moments since the man had pressed that knife against Arthur's neck were a blur, really, but the only thing he could think of now, the one thing that he was playing over and over in his head aside from the fact that he might have lost Arthur was that he had magic. But he waited in spite of his racing mind. He didn't want to stop any of them from eating their fill.

When he told them that there had been a sorcerer after them, when he mentioned that the man had looked as though he was mindless but for his task, Gaius was the first to speak, frowning.

"It is as though the Ancient One has been waiting for you to emerge from the City Below, Myrddin. You are lucky that your magic revealed itself to you when it did, or we might have lost the both of you. Well… this is serious now," he said while Alice put down her fork and looked between Myrddin and Arthur.

"From what you've said, the sorcerer you encountered was not of his own mind. That dullness in the eyes you described shows that much," she said thoughtfully. "This is serious, as Gaius says, but it has always been serious. We only now see some of what has been happening. I doubt, even now, that we have the full picture. And Myrddin, I'm happy that you've discovered your magic. As Gaius said, it ought to keep you safe."

"Myrddin, you will call PC du Lac in the morning," the doctor said, his voice allowing for no argument in spite of the fact that no one was going to argue against him this time. "You will ask him to accompany you to the house where you were found. Evidently, they will not stop until they have you, and since we will not let that happen, we must find them and the sorcerers they have taken from us before they can find you again. I fear now that it is the only way we shall be able to keep you safe."

"But now, bed," Alice said firmly.

Gwaine stood, looking at Myrddin appraisingly, though without the seduction he'd had in mind the first time they had met now.

When Myrddin met his gaze questioningly, Gwaine changed his expression to a carefree one.

"I was just wondering how it is that you're unmarked. But you may as well admit it, it was my lesson in the basics of manipulating air that had you rediscover your magic, wasn't it?" he said.

Myrddin laughed, unable to help himself.

Then Gwaine winked and was off to the living room.

"Arthur, I've set up your bed in the guest room with Myrddin," Gaius said to the blond who looked up in shock for a few moments, wide-eyed, as though he'd been caught at something he shouldn't have been doing.

Myrddin bit at his lower lip to keep his smile from being seen as he helped gather up the plates, putting them by the sink as Alice directed him to.

Of course, they had left out the part where the only reason they had managed to get caught out by the sorcerer was because Arthur had wanted to kiss him on their way home. For one thing, it would likely have seemed to come from nowhere to the others, and for another thing, Myrddin had the sense that, in Arthur's opinion, it was none of their business. And he didn't think that it was because Arthur was ashamed of him, no, but simply because he wanted his business to remain his business.

It took Arthur a little bit more time than it ought to have taken for him to realise that Gaius had not divined the reason behind their dallying on the pavement, but rather that the doctor was simply telling him that he had a bed for the night. That it was in Myrddin's room was likely because it was where that bed was kept. And it had nothing to do with what had nearly happened between them. How could it?

Once Myrddin had helped clear the plates away, he made his way to the staircase, then faltered. He had known the path from the chamber he'd slept in at the castle to the council chambers with ease after he'd trod them a few times, and that had involved countless twists and turns with vague landmarks such as 'the third sconce on the right hand side'. But here he was now, utterly stumped as to where he was meant to go. He'd had no things to take up to the room on the first evening he had been here, and had never had cause to enter it since. He'd never even been upstairs thanks to his having to leave with Arthur, and then for everything that had followed.

"Which way is it?" he asked Alice, hoping she would forgive him for not knowing.

"Oh, goodness, that's right! Well, come on. Arthur knows the way, but since we've two and I don't want him waking Morgana if he gets the wrong door, I shall take you both up," she said, creeping past Gwaine who, from his place on the sofa, blew her an easy kiss. She went up the stairs, followed by Arthur who Myrddin watched for a moment before he shook himself and made his way up the stairs and after him.

The landing was small, and there were four doors leading off from it. Alice pointed out each door in turn just in case Myrddin needed anything. Her bedroom, where she and Gaius slept, was on the far right. Beside that, on the right and closest to the stairs, was the bathroom. Opposite Alice's room was the one where Morgana was asleep, and beside that, opposite the bathroom, was the room where they had set up Myrddin and Arthur. She turned the old door knob, pushed and let the door swing open for them.

"There's towels on both your beds if you need to shower in the morning," she said, "Arthur, I've put you on the camp bed, and Myrddin, you're on the brass bed," she said.

Arthur looked disgruntled for a moment, but recovered before Alice looked at him. She pecked their cheeks, then went back down the stairs, leaving them to it.

If he listened carefully, Myrddin could hear Alice telling Gaius that she was certain she deserved a glass of wine after the day she'd had.

He glanced at Arthur for a moment, shy, then went into the bedroom before anything could be said.

He went and sat on the brass bed, as he'd been told, crossing his legs beneath him and clasping his hands in his lap as he watched the blond, almost nervous as the other man came in and shut the door behind him. But rather than join him on the bed Myrddin had been told was his own, Arthur for once kept a respectable distance, sitting instead on the rickety camp bed.

He looked nervous, too.

While Arthur had looked beautiful in the red waistcoat he'd worn when they had met, while it was most definitely his colour, the sight of him in the same black armour as Myrddin wore that would keep him safe was nothing short of breathtaking. He forgot the beauty of the gold he'd seen flashing in the eyes of Morgana and Gwaine, for here was Arthur, looking as though he were magic personified, all tones of pale gold and shining in the lamp on Myrddin's bedside table.

"You're beautiful," he found himself saying without meaning to, covering his mouth when he'd realised the words had come out as Arthur levelled a glance at him, expression nothing short of sly.

"Am I?" he asked, almost coy, but he didn't move from the bed, simply looked at Myrddin, watching him as though he'd rather like to continue what they had begun in Myrddin's chambers the other night, though perhaps without upsetting one another and not speaking for days. But he kept a respectable distance, much to Myrddin's disappointment when all he wanted was the same and more.

"I think so," he said, wetting his lower lip out of something like anticipation. "I thought it when I met you, but you were behaving like such a prat that I ignored it. And then you tried to pass off kissing me by pretending you had some great excuse behind it, and then I had to ignore it a little bit more."

"Well, that explains why you never mentioned it before."

"You're sounding confident."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, considering that you were sure I didn't want anything to do with you earlier…"

Arthur threw a pillow at Myrddin's grinning face, and it was all he could do to laugh at him.

"I'm not giving this back," he told Arthur, putting it behind him so that he could lean back against the metal posts of the bed that tinkled gently, ready to settle down there but for the narrow-eyed look that Arthur was giving him.

"Give it back," Arthur demanded.

Myrddin's grin was impish.

"No!" he said with a laugh, happy to taunt him, feeling playful.

"That's the only pillow I've got, Myrddin, it's alright for you! Now, give it back!"

"Make me!"

That had been a mistake.

Arthur climbed up and pounced, narrowly missing Myrddin who scrambled up from his own bed and made a dash for it, running around the other side of the bed only to have Arthur grab at him from where he'd landed.

"Give it back!" Arthur demanded, grabbing for him again as Myrddin moved out of his way, and then, when Arthur realised that this approach to matters was getting him nowhere, he all but vaulted the mattress and gave chase to him instead.

Clinging to the pillow as he tried to get away, Myrddin stood no chance, really, simply because he was giggling too much to make any real attempt at escaping the blond's wrath.

Arthur was bound to catch him, and he did just that. Grabbing the pillow from him, he threw it over his shoulder dismissively as though he didn't care a bit for it. Like it had been the excuse this time.

Arthur's eyes were bright and he was smiling like he'd won something, like he'd managed to get everything he wanted. How could Myrddin help himself when he looked like that? He may have been pressed against the wall, may have been in Arthur's power, but he was the one to initiate the kiss this time, pressing his lips to the blond's desperately. And no, he didn't really know much of what he was doing, but Arthur took over quickly, and he was happy to follow. The pillow lay forgotten on the floor behind Arthur as they kissed breathlessly.


	13. Chapter Twelve: The Police Constable

Chapter Twelve 

The Police Constable

Morning came, and Arthur went to shower before Gwaine could monopolise the thing. Rather predictably, Myrddin had spent the night in the brass bed while Arthur had spent his on the camp bed. And he had spent every moment since waking complaining at how poorly he’d slept, and he had said, when Myrddin had laughed at him, that he could sleep there next time and see how he liked it. 

When Arthur was done, it was Myrddin’s turn, and when he was done, he walked across the landing in a towel, very nearly colliding with a dishevelled Morgana. She stood in the doorway to the bedroom she’d been asleep in that had, until that moment, been closed. 

“We got here, then?” she questioned, sounding groggy, her voice lower than it usually was, almost as though she had a cold. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and in spite of the fact that she had been unconscious since she had arrived Above, she still seemed to be exhausted. 

“Sort of,” Myrddin admitted, pausing with his hand on the doorknob to speak with her, since he doubted anyone else had managed it yet, or she’d not have asked. “Gwaine and I got here well enough, but you and Arthur were diverted. Gwaine thought that the Elders were keeping a close watch on your… on your magical signature, I think he said, and that they had tried to influence it somehow. He’d not thought of it when we were escaping, I think… I don’t know where you and Arthur ended up, but you lost consciousness, and I think… well, Arthur called. Alice went to you with Gwaine, and they brought you back and put you to bed up here. Gwaine fetched you up,” he said, rather good at recalling things that had just happened. If only his long term memory recall was half as good, he’d be fine. 

“How long have I been sleeping?” she asked him, bringing a hand up to rub at her eyes and then cover a yawn. 

“Well, all night. It’s morning now.” 

“Did I miss anything while I was asleep?” she asked next, and he smiled for a moment, thinking of Arthur, thinking of the fact that he had found his magic, that he could feel it bubbling irresistibly below his skin, thinking that Arthur had accepted it quite happily after his insistence that Myrddin be mortal. He could hardly believe it, even now. Then he recalled what had happened to spark the emergence of his magic and remembered that it had indeed been a bad thing that had happened. Something important that Morgana would wish to know. 

“Arthur and I went to fetch dinner last night,” he began, ready to tell the story, such as it was. It would, of course, be the same doctored version that they had told the others.  

“Have you boys made up now?” she wanted to know, and Myrddin, for a moment, went red. 

“What do you mean?” he asked quickly, feigning ignorance.  

“Something was off, and I know Arthur mopes rather a lot, but it was extreme, even for him.” 

“…we had words, and everything’s fine,” Myrddin said rather than mention what had happened upon their return last night. It didn’t seem right, somehow, to talk to Arthur’s sister about this, even if she was his half-sister as she so often made a point of mentioning. So, he carried on with the story.  

“Well, on the way back to the cottage, we were… well, we weren’t ambushed, but a sorcerer appeared and held a knife to Arthur’s neck. And…” he frowned at the memory, at the fear he had felt and how angry he had been that anyone would try and harm the other man. “I spoke to Gaius about the man, and he said, from the way I described him, that it was a sorcerer, but one that didn’t have their own mind, I think it was. But the sorcerer told me that if I gave myself up, he would let Arthur go. He knew my name, and Arthur’s… he was going to hurt him, and… and then I burned him.” 

“You lit a fire?” Morgana asked, puzzled for a moment as Myrddin bit his lower lip on a grin, and surely, she would understand the excitement he felt over this. The excitement that something from the life he’d had before had returned to him. That he was not simply who and what he had thought himself to be. That he was more than he had thought had him smiling irresistibly. After all, something that had been lost to him, something he’d felt the loss of keenly without knowing what it was that was gone. Now that he’d found it, he felt as though he’d come home. The more he thought of it, the more he smiled. And realising the truth behind Arthur’s actions made things a little bit better, too. 

“Not quite,” he said, just a little bit shy to admit it. Because he shouldn’t have been smiling. This was serious. “I was angry and scared, and something felt like, if I didn’t let it go, then it would release on its own. So, I let it out. I released it, and all I was thinking of was getting him safe, of making sure he wouldn’t be hurt. It was magic, and I— somehow, I’m not sure how even now, I made the hilt of the knife he held heat up until he couldn’t hold it. He dropped it, hurt, and Arthur fell into me. The sorcerer left, but he warned us that he’d not be the last, that they’d be back, that they’d get me. I think Arthur was just… they just tried to use him to make me do what they wanted.” 

The excitement that had been in Morgana’s face when Myrddin had said he’d performed magic darkened as he finished the story of the night before. She looked positively murderous when Myrddin said that Arthur had been in trouble, that he had been in danger. 

“I’m going to call PC du Lac this morning,” Myrddin said before she could swear revenge on the sorcerer who had acted without control of their own mind or actions, if Gaius had been right. “The plan, I think, is to ask him to accompany us to the house where…” he swallowed and looked down, frowning, feeling, as he so often did, that he was the last one to know, “Where I used to live, where the fire happened. Gaius said that they would keep coming after us, after me, I suppose, considering I’m still out in the world when I should be… mindless like them,” he said, realising that for the first time and trying not to scowl. This explained why he could remember nothing, if the sorcerers ended up without control of their own thoughts. “Gaius decided that we need to find them and stop them before they can come for us again.” 

“He’s right,” Morgana said, as though she were ready to do battle in the state she was in. “We’ll go to the house. I can take us there, even, I’ve been there before,” she said, but Myrddin shook his head. 

“I think the mortal police,” he said, finding it easier to say now that he was aware that he was something different to simply being human, “Will have the house watched, what’s left of it, at least. They were looking for the warlock… you know,” he added, at Morgana’s confused expression, “The one the Elders have been answering to. They were looking for him. I don’t think we’ll be able to get in without PC du Lac. Wherever it is.” 

They were interrupted in that moment by bounding footsteps coming up the stairs. Gwaine was running up with a pale, pink towel that matched Gaius’ car perfectly, obviously ready to jump in the shower before anyone else could beat him to it yet again. 

“You’re awake,” he said, surprised, but smiling. He dropped the towel and went over to Morgana to scoop her up into an embrace, clearly overjoyed to see her well, even if she looked a bit worse for wear. 

“And Myrddin’s told me about last night,” she said once he finally put her down, and she might have looked a bit disgruntled at first, but she was smiling by the time he let go of her. Gwaine could hardly help caring about her. They’d been friends for a long time, Myrddin thought. At least as many years as Morgana had known of her magic. “We’re going to the house, he said.” 

“We are,” Gwaine said, and the time for joking and being happy and playful was over, apparently, for he was all seriousness in the next moment. “You are staying put ’til Alice says you’re well enough to go.” 

“I’m fine,” she began to insist, though for once, she went quiet at the look of utter disbelief that he gave her. 

“Have you looked in a mirror since you got up?” he wanted to know, and for a moment, she looked angry, a little bit offended, but she got over it soon enough when she realised what he meant. 

Myrddin was inclined to agree. She looked unwell. She certainly didn’t look like the Morgana he knew. 

“You’d be no use to anyone, not yourself, not us. I don’t think you’ve power in you for this. Not today. We’ll come back for you with whatever we find. For now, they don’t know we’re looking for them. They want Myrddin, but they don’t know that we’re planning an attack once we know enough. They’re not expecting this and for now, we’ve the upper hand. Rest while you can, please, because there might not be another chance to, not when they sent someone after him last night. It’s only a matter of time until it happens again.” 

“No offence meant to you, Myrddin, I mean, I’m happy that you’ve found your magic, but you’ve managed to burn someone once by accident. You’ve not exactly got supreme control over your power. I’d be more use than him, Gwaine, and you know it. Arthur’s a mortal, for goodness sake, and you want me to stay here? It’ll all be on you, you’ll have to protect them both if anything goes wrong at the house.” 

“How long did it take you to get out of your room?” 

Myrddin didn’t think the answer was a good one based on the expression Morgana gave. 

“Get back to bed,” he told Morgana, “And I’ll go down to fetch Alice. She can help you.” 

And while he didn’t know what she could do to help, he was confident that she had the ability because Gaius had told him so. And he, foolish or no, believed him wholeheartedly. 

He kissed Morgana’s cheek, to show her his support, then went into the bedroom he shared with Arthur who had dressed himself again in the black clothes. When Myrddin had told him they mimicked dragon hide, he had declared it a sign, given his surname, and had said that he would wear them until all this was over. And yes, it might have marked them out as holding allegiance with the Elders who were likely involved in the disappearances, but Myrddin expected that what Morgana had said about the armour to be true. It would protect them as much as it could. And, if they ran into a spot of trouble, any that didn’t know who they were who were on side with the Elders would believe them to be, too. It could only help them. 

“Morgana’s awake,” Myrddin said, padding over to where he’d laid out his own clothes before he changed with his back to Arthur. He did his best to ignore the gaze that he just knew belonged to Arthur. It made the hair at the back of his neck prickle. 

“How is she?” Arthur asked. He stood up from where he had been sat at the bottom of the brass bed, watching Myrddin get dressed, and went to the door instead.  

“She looks tired,” Myrddin admitted as he pulled the shirt on over his head and pulled it down into place. He felt secure and safe just by putting it on. And while he hoped that he’d not have to prove its protective qualities, he had an inkling that it would need to prove itself before long. 

“I’ll go see her. I want to tell her everything that’s been going on,” Arthur said, sounding excited enough that Myrddin felt bad for a moment that he’d already done it. He didn’t say so, though. Let Arthur have his fun while Myrddin went to call PC du Lac. 

“Gwaine’s made her go back to bed and he’s gone to get Alice so she can help her recover a bit quicker, I think, or… or something.” 

He wished he knew more, but apparently, it was good enough for Arthur who left the bedroom, though not before giving him a wink. 

Myrddin shook his head, pulled his boots on and went out onto the landing. 

Gwaine had been and gone quickly, it seemed, for his towel had been retrieved and his tuneless singing could be heard drifting from the bathroom, as could the sound of the shower running. 

On his way down the staircase, Myrddin passed Alice who was carrying a tray on which there were burned, round, flat things that smelled vaguely of lemon and sweet things with a glass of orange juice and a cup of tea on the side of the tray. She paused, balancing the tray for long enough to squeeze his hand. She told him that his pancakes were warming on the stove, and that Gaius had left him the phone number for the Police Constable on the telephone table. 

He wanted to call PC du Lac first, was desperate to set that into motion, wondering, in the back of his mind, whether coming back into his magic and returning to the place he had come from would spark some memory that had been so far lost to him. 

But he remembered how hungry he had been before, how there’d been no opportunity to eat once he’d left the cottage last time, and what if PC du Lac needed him right away? No, food came first. 

He went to the kitchen, finding three plates of the same blackened circles of what could only be pancakes atop of the Stanley cooker. 

He ate quickly, enjoying what he had because of the care he knew had gone into it even if it didn’t taste quite as spectacular as the mess of grease, potatoes and fish he’d eaten the night before. It didn’t matter. He poured himself a glass of juice and carried that through to the foyer where he found the phone number that Gaius had left him. It took him a while to work out how to use the phone, a few times in which he dialled the wrong thing and ended up talking to a woman with a slurring accent who was rather hard to understand, but since she didn’t sound like the Police Constable, he’d apologised and hung up before trying again. 

Finally, he had a regular tone sounding intermittently in his ear, and barely a few seconds passed until a voice he thought he recognised answered. 

“Doctor Laece?” the disembodied voice asked, and Myrddin, once he’d stopped being fascinated over a telephone when he had experienced real magic, smiled. 

“No, it’s Myrddin Wyllt.”

“Myrddin! Where have you been? I came to the cottage to check on you, to see you were settling in well, that you hadn’t encountered our suspect and Gaius told me you were missing.” 

“…it’s rather a long story,” Myrddin said, “I’m back now, though. Safe. I wondered, though… if you could take me to the place of the fire?” he asked him. 

There was silence on the other end of the line for long enough that Myrddin wondered if he’d done something to end the connection. 

“Hello?” he tried at the same time as the Police Constable cleared his throat. 

“I would need to accompany you there, Myrddin, and… we’d not be able to go inside, given that it isn’t safe, structurally speaking, but I can show you it from the pavement, I think… you’re lucky, really. It’s my day off, although that’s not stopped me from looking for you—”  

“Thank you,” Myrddin interrupted before the police constable could fret any more about where he’d been, or ask. “Can I meet you somewhere?” he asked. 

“Now?” the police constable asked, “But I’m taking Guinevere to the gallery—” he broke off, remembering the promise he’d made to Myrddin about helping him if he could, it seemed, for he agreed before a breath could pass between them. 

“You’re taking Guinevere out?” Myrddin asked, feeling himself grinning. He’d told her so. He’d told her that PC du Lac had been hanging around so frequently because of her. He’d told her so and she’d been oblivious! Obviously, she wasn’t any more. Still, this worked well for them. PC du Lac could show them where it was, and then, since he’d need to get going for his date, they’d be able to pick through what was left of the house without having to worry about being told what was and was not safe. 

“Yes… I realise I owe you thanks for that. Guinevere said you spent a great deal of time pointing out the fact that I behaved like some kind of puppy around her… but anyway—” 

Myrddin practically heard Lancelot shake himself from the tangent he had managed to end up on. 

“—since I doubt you know your way about yet, or you’d not be asking to be shown to your own home, I’ll tell Guinevere we’re stopping to see you first. She’s been worried, too, and it will cheer her up to see you, I think… yes, we’ll meet you, then go on to the house. We’ll be there soon,” he promised, and then the telephone clicked and a long, drawn out tone sounded. 

It took Myrddin longer than he’d ever admit to realise that the conversation was over, that PC du Lac had hung up on his end before Myrddin hung up, too. 

Gwaine appeared out of the shower in short order and dressed in the living room without shame and without even drawing the net curtains, something that annoyed Arthur to no end when the blond came down from regaling Morgana with tales of what had occurred the night before. 

Gwaine and Arthur ate, and before they were done, the doorbell rang. Gwaine was the one to jump up and run to answer it, though. He declared that as he was the only one with magic he could use in defence, he ought to be the one to throw himself in harm’s way should there be harm on the other side of the door. 

Thankfully, on the other side of the door stood the Police Constable in plain clothes with Guinevere who was also out of her uniform, Myrddin saw when he stepped into the foyer from the living room. 

Even though he’d not intended to see her, even though there were bigger things to be done now, he found himself grinning as only fools can, running as she did, too, and hugging her tightly. There was something so normal and reassuring in seeing her, and he realised then that he had missed her, that he was happy to see her, that he wanted to sit and chat to her like they’d done for hours on end in the hospital. But there was no time. He hoped that his life wouldn’t be like this forever, hoped that he would find time for her. Really, compared to what had been going on in his life since he had left, his time spent in the hospital had been positively normal. He missed it, missed her, but, equally, he’d not trade anything that had happened since he’d left. He had found Morgana and Gwaine, and Arthur, too. 

“How are you?” she wanted to know, and Myrddin told her that he was fine, that he didn’t remember anything still, but that he was feeling stronger today than he had the day before. In reality, he had begun to feel strong from the moment he had found his magic, though he couldn’t say that to her. She would think him mad. 

“Are you ready?” asked Lancelot from where he stood on the threshold, not wanting to come in and get cosy when he was on what he considered to be a tight schedule. 

“I’m ready,” Myrddin began, then gestured to his fellow sorcerer, and that seemed odd to think. He was pleased he didn’t have to say it out loud yet. It would take time enough to get used to in his own head much less out loud. “I asked Gwaine if he could come with me, and Arthur too, I— it’s emotional, you know,” he said, an idea that Arthur had come up with and that seemed to work very well, since Lancelot gave a nod, but while he accepted it, that didn’t stop him from asking just who they were. 

“Myrddin’s my boyfriend,” Gwaine declared, draping a possessive arm about Myrddin’s shoulders. 

While he was very aware of how untrue this was, while he could feel the beginnings of giggles that threatened to bubble up from Gwaine’s chest and was very impressed by how he kept them under control, it didn’t stop Myrddin from blinking up at him. 

“I’m allowed to support my boyfriend, aren’t I?” Gwaine asked defiantly of the Police Constable who was bound to agree, really, given that, true or not, what Gwaine said was technically correct. 

“…and Arthur?” Lancelot asked next, rather than dwell on the subject any longer. 

“Arthur’s my friend’s half brother,” Gwaine said, as though it were obvious, and Myrddin wondered how Gwaine didn’t burst with the laughter he was struggling to keep at bay. His face was so serious that no one else would ever know, really. Myrddin wouldn’t have known if he couldn’t feel it from the arm thrown about him. 

“I think you know who I am,” came Arthur’s voice from behind Myrddin who span around, shaking Gwaine’s arm free without meaning to. Arthur’s expression was mildly thunderous at the half embrace, but then he seemed to remember the plan and instead approached the police constable, a smile on his face that was almost teasing. 

“Arthur!” said Lancelot, and he did step into the cottage then, to embrace the blond. 

Myrddin blinked again. He felt rather as though he were doing a lot of that today. 

“You know Arthur?” he asked, but his words went unheard, for the two of them had gone out of the front door and along the gravel drive, speaking animatedly about something or other. 

It was Myrddin’s turn to feel vaguely put out. 

Well. At least, if they knew one another, PC du Lac would have no problem in letting both Arthur and Gwaine go to the house with him. 

“Boys,” Guinevere said from Myrddin’s side. He’d almost forgotten about her. 

“Aren’t they awful?” Gwaine asked cheerfully. 

“I didn’t know they knew each other,” Myrddin felt the need to say as Gwaine herded them out onto the drive. Arthur and Lancelot were already in the Land Rover that the police constable had arrived in. If Guinevere minded that Arthur had taken the front seat, that he was currently sitting and laughing with her date as though they’d known one another for at least a lifetime, she didn’t let it show on her face. Myrddin thought he’d try and take a lesson from her on that. After all, the story was that Gwaine was his boyfriend, and since he was acting the part, Myrddin ought to be, too.  

And why would he be jealous over the police constable? There was no reason behind it at all. 

Yet he couldn’t really help it. 

“Come on,” Gwaine said, taking Myrddin’s hand as he should and leading him over to the vehicle. He even opened the door for him. Myrddin slid into the centre seat while Guinevere crossed to the other side of the car to sit beside him. Gwaine was on his other side. 

“It’s been so long… you have to tell me, how’s Leon?” Lancelot was asking Arthur from the driver’s seat. 

Myrddin tried to not glower at the back of the police constable’s head.


	14. Chapter Thirteen: The House

Chapter Thirteen 

The House 

The bricks of the house were black. They hadn’t always been, Myrddin thought, somehow knew.

Lancelot indicated to pull into what had once been the drive of a large house. It was a quiet street, just outside of town, and the only houses there were big and spaced far apart. It was little wonder that the fire hadn’t spread beyond the house they had pulled Myrddin from, even if it hadn’t been magical in nature. Would a fire set with magic spread to another place the way a conventional fire could? He tried to think on it, to ponder on the answer, see if it would come from within as easily as the magic had. It wouldn’t. And he could have asked, but there would be no point, really. The information wasn’t important enough. They all knew that the attack had been targeted, that the Ancient One hadn’t done this with the hope that it might cause general destruction. It had just been an attempt at getting rid of evidence.

Evidence of Myrddin’s life.

He had expected to feel some great surge of emotion at the sight of the wrecked place that had been his home. Aside from the mild distress that was wishing that he knew something about what had been, and wishing that he could remember along with a small amount of anger that all of this had been taken from him, there was nothing. There was no sorrow for the state of the place he’d lived in. He wondered if it was because he couldn’t remember.

“Did you ever ask the neighbours if they remembered Myrddin?” Guinevere wanted to know as she climbed from the back. Gwaine was already out of the car and was in the process of letting Myrddin out after him.

“It was one of the first things we did,” Lancelot said as he turned the key to switch the engine off, then climbed out of the car to join them.

Arthur had finished catching up with Lancelot on the journey here. Funnily enough, he’d stopped as soon as the blackened remains of the house came into view. Well, they weren’t really remains. Not exactly. There was a hole in the roof, and the windows had blown in the fire, but the front door was still sound. Myrddin had been found in the road, he remembered. Not because he remembered being there, but because he’d been told.

He looked at the house in something like wonder. It was hard for him to imagine that he’d led an entire life up until the moment of this fire, that he’d done things he had begun to lose hope of ever remembering. It was still so strange.

Arthur took his frowning to mean that he was unhappy, that seeing all of this had upset him, and he hesitated beside Myrddin before reaching for his hand, a thing that no one else saw but which Myrddin felt.

“We knocked about the other houses to see if anyone could shed any light on what had happened here. There’s a family next door to the right who were out that night. It was the house on the left that phoned an ambulance for you, Myrddin,” Lancelot said, pointing to the house in question. “She’s a lawyer who’d got home from working when she saw you in the road with the house on fire behind you. You’d managed to get out on your own. But no one saw anything, and no one really knew you either. All they could say about this place,” he said, gesturing then to the blackened house, “Was that whoever lived there, they never really saw them beyond lights switching on and off.”

Well, if Myrddin had magic, and if he’d known about the magic before the fire, then it would have only made sense that he didn’t spend a lot of time with the few mortals that lived in the same road as he had if only because they might have found out what he was and taken it poorly.

He noticed then, out of the corner of his life, that the police constable had begun to glance at his watch. Not impatiently, but out of concern for his schedule, to check how much longer he could stay here before his plans for their entire day were thrown off.

“Guinevere and I ought to be going,” he said, sounding honestly sad to be ending this so soon, but the date that they had delayed was important, and Myrddin felt bad for keeping him from it for so long.

“I just want to look at it a little bit longer,” he said to Lancelot.

“Are you sure?” he asked, to which Myrddin gave a nod. The sooner the police constable left, the better, really, for more than just the one reason.

“I’m sure.”

“Alright… well, we’ll see you later, I hope,” Lancelot said, then gestured to the Land Rover once he had unlocked it. “Want to come with, Arthur?”

Myrddin could hardly help but feel smug when Arthur shook his head and said he’d catch up with him later on, that he wanted to support Myrddin instead. Even though he didn’t need support so much as he needed help in looking around and finding anything there was to find that might point to the location of the Ancient One. The point was that Lancelot didn’t know that any more than anyone else had seen Arthur holding Myrddin’s hand.

Well, at least, that was what he’d thought.

Guinevere pulled Myrddin to one side before she got into the car, her face all concern for all the wrong reasons, although she showed herself up as just as observant as he’d always thought her to be. She was a nurse with formal medical training. Of course she was clever, of course she was observant. She gave a meaningful glance in the direction of Arthur and Gwaine who were stood together, though they weren’t speaking. Gwaine had turned his back on the goodbyes and, now that he didn’t think he had to, he ceased playing the role of the doting boyfriend. Instead, he was looking up at the house with determination in his eyes. Arthur was looking at Myrddin. He caught his eyes, but the brunet broke the exchange quickly, shyly, turning his attention back to Guinevere instead.

“Myrddin,” she began in an undertone that the others were obviously not meant to hear, looking at him as though he’d done something bad. “Gwaine seems to care about you very much. It’s wrong of you to lead him on if you’ve been… well, if you’ve been off with Arthur,” she said, clearly struggling for an inoffensive word to explain what she thought they had been doing behind Gwaine’s back. And while Myrddin was innocent of her accusation since there was nothing going on with Gwaine really, he could not ignore the fact that Guinevere had so easily picked out what was happening with Arthur. It was embarrassing, and he felt his face heat up in response. It was visible enough that the nurse shook her head and sighed.

“If you like Arthur, and he obviously does like you, then you need to break things off with Gwaine before he gets hurt, Myrddin. It wouldn’t be fair on him and I know that you’d not want to hurt him on purpose,” she said firmly. Firmly enough that Myrddin found himself nodding enthusiastically in agreement. As though he had anything to break off.

“I’ll fix it,” he promised her, wishing he could tell her the truth, but then she would ask why Gwaine was really here, and he couldn’t think of a good enough excuse for that. It made far more sense to let Guinevere believe that he were carrying on with both men if only because she’d not bring this up with Lancelot who might start wondering it himself. Still, by the time he did wonder, Myrddin hoped to be finished here.

He watched as Guinevere opened the door, then stepped up into the front passenger seat. He waved to her as the Land Rover pulled away, then turned back to Arthur and Gwaine.

Gwaine had wasted no time. As soon as he’d heard the car door shut, as soon as he’d heard the engine start up and the sound of the tyres rolling away reached him, he approached the house.

“I don’t know how stable this place is,” he confessed to them, not looking around to see if they were close.

“I wish I knew where we could start looking so that we could be in and out as quickly as we can,” Myrddin said, but what could he do? Nothing but get inside and see what there was to see.

He left Gwaine at the front of the house. There was no use trying the front door when he had no key, he thought. His best bet was finding a window large enough to climb through. As though he were breaking into his own home. It was a silly thought and he did his best not to giggle hysterically at it.

He found a long window at the back of the property that still had some broken glass in it but which seemed big enough that he could get through.

It took a few moments as he figured out the best way to get inside without getting hurt. In the end, he took off his jacket and hung it over the windowsill to cover the few remaining shards of broken glass. To his amazement, it didn’t poke through the material, but then he remembered the magical properties of it and decided it foolish to keep being surprised by magic. Particularly when he possessed it. He hoisted himself up onto the windowsill, swinging a leg over and onto a countertop that was covered in ash. He wondered that it was still standing, then realised rather belatedly that it was granite. That would explain it. He let his other leg join the first, putting his weight there until he could slide off the counter top and onto the floor that was covered in blackened ashes with footprints tracking through it.

People had been here since the fire. Police, probably, he thought without really considering any further possibilities.

He was in a kitchen, he realised as he looked about, leaving the window and his jacket there so that Arthur and Gwaine would realise where he had gone when they eventually followed him around the house. He probably ought have taken it with him, given what Gwaine had said about the house’s stability, but he didn’t think that far ahead either. He was struck instead by the desire to look around, to see if he could find anything out about this place that he ought have been able to remember, to see if there was anything that could spark off some sort of memory. Yes, his motivation in coming here had been a little bit selfish, but it was true that he had wanted to come here in order to find what they could about the ones who had done this, too. He wanted to find the sorcerers who had vanished, and he wanted to find whoever was after him so that he could help stop them before they managed to do away with him once and for all. But he also wanted to see if he could find any personal artefacts, anything that would tell him who he had been.

There was an oven as old fashioned as the one Gaius and Alice had on the far side of the kitchen. It was covered in soot, and Myrddin touched it out of curiosity, running a finger along it that came away black, though the oven was apparently cream-coloured, really. The fire had damaged everything, he had to remind himself. The kitchen may have been relatively intact, but he had to remind himself that even if he found something, it may well be of no use to him now.

He didn’t know the layout of this house, he realised as he took a few steps over the footprints on the floor, looking around as he went. He knew his way around in Gaius’ cottage easily, and he was fairly certain that once, he’d known this place just as well if not better, but now, he didn’t know where to start. And not only because he didn’t know what exactly to look for beyond some clue that the Ancient One might have left behind, but because he didn’t know where to look. 

He took a chance and started walking, staying silent because he felt as though he ought to be. It didn’t feel right, somehow, to go around being noisy in a place like this. Almost as though it were disrespectful to do so, though the only one he might have been disrespecting, if he thought about it, was himself.

He ended up in what might have once been a living room, though he’d gone in a different direction to the one he’d have taken had he been in Gaius’ home.

There wasn’t much in the living room. There was a fireplace with nothing in it but ashes, and some things that might have once been chairs and sofas. For some reason, there was even the remnants of an instrument in the corner. He approached, looking at what had once been a large harp, gilded and gold. Now it was nothing but ex-fire wood and a fair number of snapped strings that were as blackened with soot as the rest of the things here. Had he been a musician? He didn’t know. Maybe it had been a hobby. Maybe he had been playing since he was but a small child. But he just couldn’t remember. Another thing that had been taken from him.

He left the living room and followed the path of footsteps that must have been left by police officers well over a month ago. He doubted anyone had been here since they had. The air was still thick with the scent of stale smoke made by things that shouldn’t have burned but had done so all the same. Back through the kitchen, and neither Gwaine nor Arthur had found their way inside yet, but that was alright. They’d find it soon, he thought, and for once, didn’t feel as though he ought to be checking up on them. This was a place where he had once belonged. And for some reason, he felt as though he needed a moment alone here. As though he needed at least a few minutes where there was no one there. If they found their way in sooner rather than later, he’d of course not mind, but he would take advantage of these few moments he had.

He went out of the kitchen, then walked through a dining room that had seen yet more destruction. There was a dining table in here that had probably seen better days even before the fire. Quite miserably, there was just a single chair there, and no evidence that there had ever been more. He wondered what he had been. Had he been so lonely as this? Had he been such a solitary person that he’d only had one chair in his dining room?

From what Gaius had said, he had been. And though he’d had the sense that he’d remembered Arthur when he’d first met him, he knew it wasn’t true now.

What was he? A lonely sorcerer who had refused to get involved in the community within the City Below who had no friends, no family, and played the harp. Perhaps the Ancient One had done him a favour in trying to do away with him, or at least, in stealing his memories that he’d not complain about being taken away. At least now, he had friends. He had Gaius, Alice, Morgana, Gwaine and Arthur. He had Lancelot and Guinevere, too. And before, he’d had nothing and no one.

Leaving that depressing thought in the dining room, he followed the footprints out into a corridor where he could see the front door. This was the foyer, then. There was a staircase beside him, with a cupboard below. He’d have opened the cupboard were it not for what Gwaine had said about the structural integrity of the house. So, he decided to try getting up the stairs, though he could see a few holes here and there where the wood had already given up.

Thinking of himself as light in spite of his height when compared to Gwaine and Arthur who each seemed larger than him even though Myrddin was the tallest, he began his way up the stairs. He picked his way up slowly, step by step, keeping a tight grip on the banister as he went. There was a crack as he reached the third step from the top, and his foot went through. He gave a shout, catching himself before he could fall all the way, then dragged himself up the last steps to the top. On his hands and knees, he leant forwards and looked down through the hole he’d made into the cupboard below the stairs.

It was just a small bathroom with sink and toilet. Well, at least he wasn’t missing much by being unable to look inside properly. He sat back at the top of the stairs and looked down them to the front door. He turned around as he heard Gwaine’s voice from the kitchen, apparently helping Arthur through since there was nowhere else that Myrddin could have gone to. He listened as Arthur said he didn’t need any help from him, thanks, and as Gwaine proceeded then to ask just what Arthur’s problem was with him.

He knew he shouldn’t have been listening when they didn’t know he was there, that he shouldn’t have eavesdropped, but he found that he couldn’t help himself.

“I don’t have a problem with you,” Arthur’s voice said, though it didn’t sound at all true. There was a brief shuffle of footsteps, what Myrddin supposed must have been him getting down from the counter, and Gwaine’s sigh.

“It’s obvious you do,” he said, and had he been in the room, Myrddin would have agreed with him. It had been obvious from the moment they’d met Gwaine that Arthur didn’t like him very much.

“Even if I did have a problem with you, it’s none of your business,” said Arthur, though he faltered as he said it. Myrddin could just imagine the look on Gwaine’s face.

“It’s obviously my business,” Gwaine said, “If you’ve got a problem with me, then I’d rather know. Maybe we can even solve it.”

“Not everyone has to like you.”

“No, and I never said they did, but I don’t think I’ve done anything to you.”

“Just leave it, will you?”

“Is this about Myrddin?”

There was no response from Arthur.

Myrddin had held his breath as he listened to the two of them speak, knew he’d done it, and didn’t care. He felt terrible for Arthur, even now. He’d been through so much. Myrddin had long since figured out the answer to this. Gwaine was so much that Arthur wasn’t. He had magic, had shared a world with his sister that Arthur had never even known about, and really, in a way, Gwaine represented the lies that Arthur had been told. Myrddin didn’t think that he was feeling this way on purpose, didn’t think that he really understood just why he disliked Gwaine so much. He simply did. And maybe he put it down to the way Gwaine had behaved around Myrddin at first, but it wasn’t just that, even if Gwaine had just pretended to be with Myrddin so that they could get here and potentially made things worse.

“Because if it is—”

“Leave it.”

There was the sound of footsteps as Arthur undoubtedly stormed into the next room, and then there was nothing else for Myrddin to hear.

He pushed himself slowly to his feet and, not touching anything, looked around the landing he’d ended up on. Strange. The footprints were up here, too.

Myrddin frowned and looked back down at the staircase, so filled with holes that surely, no sane police officer would come up here.

He shook his head, knowing that he’d have to go back downstairs soon when Gwaine’s voice drifted up to him again.

“Well, we know one thing,” he said lightly, “Whoever Myrddin was, he was loaded. Isn’t money considered power up Above? Maybe that’s why he was targeted in the first place.”

It was a possibility. Arthur’s reply, if there was one, was indistinct as Myrddin followed the footprints that led through an open door and into what appeared to be a bedroom, relatively undamaged. There was a bed there, and the singed remains of pillows and a duvet. Even blackened feathers caught his attention. He sighed, covering his mouth with his hand, then rubbed at his eyes irritably. It was just the ashes and dust in the air getting to him. It couldn’t have been emotion, didn’t deserve to be emotion when he couldn’t remember ever having been here before.

This was a sad place, he knew that. He’d known that the moment he’d landed in the kitchen and stated walking around. He’d been so lonely here, and yet, he wished, even now, that he could just remember, even if the reality was that he was better off not knowing.

There was a chest of drawers in this room, looking splintered and as soot-stained as everything else in the place. He opened one of the drawers out of sheer curiosity, since it was a place to look for something, for anything, frowning when the wooden handle crumbled in his hands and he was forced to pull it open from the hole it had left. Inside, there was a mirror, and a boar bristle hairbrush that the chest of drawers had kept relatively safe from the fire. He left the mirror where it was and instead picked up the hairbrush. Something had caught his attention. For once, the hairs he was seeing weren’t dark ones, and that in itself was what was puzzling him. His own hair was dark brown, almost black. Why, then, were the hairs in the brush long and white? He picked up the mirror to check his reflection, to look at his hair, at his beard, see if there was even so much of a trace of anything white, any silver, anything at all. But his hair remained the colour he’d thought it.

He dropped the brush and mirror back into the drawer, then pulled the others out, looking for some kind of answer, any answer. Perhaps he had lived here with someone else. Maybe he’d had a girlfriend, a boyfriend, someone, anyone who had hair that colour. But there was nothing else to be found. Nothing that he could see, in any case. He sat down heavily on the soot-covered floorboards, feeling defeated.

Apparently, the dull thud he’d made had alerted Arthur and Gwaine to his presence.

“Myrddin, is that you?” Gwaine shouted, and, though he’d wanted time alone, he called back to them through the open door that it was indeed him.  
He let his head rest on his knees, sighing. This was ridiculous. All he’d found here were more questions. He wondered if it had been the police who had cleared out the rest of the chest of drawers. If, indeed, there had been anything else in there.

There were footsteps and then Arthur’s voice called up the stairs.

“Have you found anything?”  
“Nothing,” Myrddin called back, getting onto his hands and knees, ready to push himself up to his feet only to be distracted by a dull glint beneath the bed. Glad that the clothes he wore were already black, he crawled over to the bed and then under it, hoping to see what it was that was glinting below the bed, but it was too dark. Too dark, and too cramped. He reached out blindly, gasping when his knuckles came in contact with something hard and metallic with sharp corners. He snatched his hand back and reached with the other, this time with less force. Whatever it was, he grabbed a corner, then pulled it over, backing out from under the bed as he did so.

Back in the dim light of the room, he leant against the bed and looked down at what appeared to be a box made of cast iron, undamaged by the fire. He tried to open it, to pry it apart, but it wouldn’t budge. Hefting the box onto his knees, he ran his hand across the top, feeling drawn to it. Here was something that belonged to him. Something that was his. Something that had survived the fire aside from himself.

It was simple to look at, with no special markings or decorations to mark it out as anything valuable or otherwise remarkable, and yet, he knew it was important. It was important because it seemed, from the state of this place, that it was the only connection to the life he’d had before that was still here.

So, he couldn’t open it. There was no lock on the front, simply a carved ‘M’, now that he looked closer. He wondered what the ‘M’ could be for. Magic, perhaps. Music? Something to do with the harp? And then it hit him. Obviously, it was an M for Myrddin. And, if he turned the box upside-down, it would be a W for Wyllt. It was quite clever, really.

Marvelling at how witty he’d been, he got slowly to his feet, taking the box with him. It was heavy, given what it was made of, but he was almost certain that whatever was inside it would still be whole and perfect. If there even was anything inside it.

“I found something,” he called as he left the bedroom and the mystery of the white hairs on the brush where they belonged.

But, rather than an answer asking what it was as he had expected, there instead came a shout from downstairs. He thought, for just a moment, that the two of them had actually started yelling at one another over nothing at all important.

“I don’t think it’s going to tell us where the Ancient One has taken the sorcerers, but I think that it belonged to me,” he said as he descended the stairs, careful about his footing now that he was carrying the extra weight of the cast iron box. “And if I can find out, if there’s something that links me to say, Morgana’s brother aside from that I was a sorcerer who lived Above, then… maybe that will get us closer to finding them all?” he asked, grasping at straws as to why he should need to take this box with him, but he simply knew that he must. He couldn’t leave it here.

“Hello?” he called out.

There came a crash from the kitchen.

He ran in there, slower than he might usually have been with the box only to see two strangers and Arthur. Outside, Gwaine was on his back, surrounded by what had remained of the window’s broken glass.

“How do they keep finding us?” he asked the sky, groaning as he rolled over, winded.

Myrddin did the only thing he could think of, and that was to drop the box and push at the air as Gwaine had told him.

He probably shouldn’t have been surprised when it didn’t work.

“Get Wyllt,” the woman said to the man.

Arthur stepped up to the one that held fire and, rather practically, used his elbow to catch the man in the jaw, then kicked out, sending the man spinning into the woman.

It was disconcerting how they both went down without a sound. It was almost as though they didn’t care for themselves, as though anything that happened to them didn’t matter, as though they had no sense of self preservation left.

“Get out,” Myrddin said to Arthur, nodding to the window. He stooped to pick up the box even as the woman recovered and reached to grab at him.

He looked up at her and watched as she flew back without his even trying, flipping once, twice, and crashing into a door frame. Arthur was looking at Myrddin in astonishment. At his eyes, and at the woman who had been silent as she tumbled through the air, and was both silent and still now, unconscious.

“I don’t know about you, but this seems as good a time as any to get going,” said Gwaine in jovial tones from the window as though there weren’t two sorcerers out to get them in the kitchen of a house that they had effectively broken into.

“Give this to Gwaine,” Myrddin demanded of Arthur, handing him the heavy box.

For once, Arthur did as he was bid without question, perhaps a little bit gleefully hefting the box out of the window if only because he could watch Gwaine struggle with its weight.

“Now get out,” Myrddin said, shoving him over to the window even as the male sorcerer began to recover, to get to his feet, and it was all Myrddin could do to scramble onto one of the counter tops, to push at Arthur to get him through the window, then follow as fast as he could. He wished he had a hold of his magic, wished that he knew how better to control it, because he was simply not able to make it function in a way that Gwaine had considered both normal and easy. The last thing he did was pull his jacket free from where he’d draped it, hoping that it would at least make it more difficult for the sorcerers to give chase.

As soon as they were out, they ran, but not before Gwaine pushed against the air and a hole suddenly forced its way through what had been a brick wall.

They stood on the grass as they watched the house that had once been Myrddin’s home crumble to the ground. He glanced at the box in Gwaine’s hands, then back at the house. Well, back at the rubble. He didn’t know how they would explain that one to Lancelot. He hoped that Arthur would be able to talk him around.

“Could the Elders be tracing you, or tracking you, or whatever it’s called?” Myrddin asked, his mind returning to the question Gwaine had asked before.

The ex-page shook his head. “No. And I would know it if they were, before you ask. I’d feel it. I’ve been exposed to their power for too long not to. Besides, they wouldn’t have had the chance. Traces can only be placed on people at their most vulnerable, like when they’re asleep.”

“Maybe they were just watching the house,” Arthur suggested, but Myrddin shook his head.

“There were footsteps there when I got inside,” he said.

“We thought they were yours,” said Gwaine.

“And I thought they were the police’s. But I think those two were there all along."


	15. Chapter Fourteen: The Journal

Chapter Fourteen 

The Journal 

Returning to the cottage was a case of taking a bus most of the way, then walking the distance that was left to them. The first few drops of rain began to fall as they walked down the road the cottage was on. They huddled at the doorstep when they arrived and it really began to pour, waiting to be let in. Of course, Alice fussed over them. She insisted that they sit down in the living room while she made tea because apparently, it was the best thing for shock. She even said that it wasn’t her speaking as a sorcerer with healing powers, but that it was in fact her speaking as a person with a gift for common sense. She even lit the fire and told them to stay where they were so that they could all warm up.

Gwaine told her about the house just before she went off to the kitchen while Myrddin sat in an armchair with the box on his lap, looking down at it.

“I feel like if I can open it, then I can find out what it was about me that linked me to the others that vanished. If I can open this, maybe we can find another person who fits, too? Or… I don’t know,” he said finally, sighing.

Arthur sat on the arm of the chair and nudged him lightly.

“It’s alright to want to learn about what you used to be,” he told him.

They were some of the first words of encouragement Myrddin had ever had from him, in spite of the moments they’d shared. He looked up at him in surprise, blinking before he gave a bit of a smile.

“I don’t think they were after this, though. I think… I don’t think that this would matter to the Ancient One, that I find out who I was. Or at least, that I find out what’s in here.”

“You never know,” said Gwaine as he sat down on the sofa opposite, “It might be something really embarrassing.”

“It seems stupid that they keep coming after you. If they’d left you alone in the first place, we wouldn’t be trying to stop them now. But then, they don’t know that you can’t remember them. They probably think that you’ll remember and lead us right to them,” Arthur said, shaking his head a bit.

“I wish I could,” Myrddin confided. “But I can’t even work out the lock on this box.”

It probably should have worried him, just how commonplace these attacks were getting. Just how quickly he had got over them, just how easy it was to hold out his hands that had fresh cuts on, to watch as Alice applied a healing salve to them, then did the same for Arthur and Gwaine. This all seemed normal to him now.

“Can I see?” Gwaine asked, holding his hands out for the box as a nasty looking gash across his forehead slowly healed, the skin knitting together as though he’d never been hurt. “Maybe I can get into it.”

“Doubtful,” Arthur scoffed, but Myrddin handed it over all the same.

Arthur’s only injury from their little foray into the house had been a split at his elbow where he’d apparently managed to come into contact with the man’s teeth when he’d hit him. Still, the sorcerer had come off worse, being that he had been crushed under rubble. And Myrddin felt terrible for that. He was only too certain that the two he had encountered were what he might have been had the Ancient One succeeded in taking him away.

Gwaine let out a low whistle as he looked at the box.

“I’ve not seen something like this since my first few days working for the Elders,” he said, awe in his voice. “Only magic can unlock it, and only the magic of the person it belongs to… Myrddin, that means you.”

“So I knew about my magic, then,” Myrddin said, watching as Gwaine stood up and placed the box in Myrddin’s lap where it apparently belonged.

How had he managed to burn the sorcerer who had held a knife to Arthur’s neck? How had he knocked back the sorcerer who had been about to grab at him in the house? How had he done those things? He had wanted them to happen without quite realising it, he thought. He had taken the magic, for that was what it was, bubbling within, and released it out into the world to do his bidding, it seemed. Imagining walls of air and the like just didn’t seem to do it for him. As far as Myrddin could figure it out, magic was magic. It was a part of him as much as his arms were. It wasn’t simply about learning tricks.

He pressed his fingers against the ‘M’ that stood proud of the box, feeling the power that had been placed there. He had put that power there, he knew that. He recognised it, somehow. What Morgana had said to him about signatures sounded somewhere in the depths of his mind, but he pushed that to one side. He wanted the box open. This was his box. And inside, there had to be something important. Something he had considered important enough to put away in a box so protected as this one was, at least. Beneath his fingers, he felt the M give way as a click rang out in the quiet of the room. Opening his eyes, he saw that the ‘M’ had fallen out and onto his lap, ready to be replaced when he was done with the contents of the box. Carefully, he placed the ‘M’ on the closest surface, a small table at the side of his chair, then pushed back the heavy lid and looked inside.

“Did you find something?” came Morgana’s voice from the doorway.

Myrddin looked up, smiling because he couldn’t help himself. She looked so much more like herself than she had the last time he’d seen her. The dark circles under her eyes were gone, and she looked as though she were more than ready to give some cutting remark should the situation require it.

“We found this,” Myrddin said, “It’s something that used to belong to me before,” he added, then watched as she sat on the other arm of the chair he occupied.

“And we were ambushed while we were there. Two of the sorcerers that vanished were there waiting for us. Waiting for Myrddin to come back, as I suppose we were always going to, so that they could take him with them.”

“Where are they now? We could question them, find out—”

“Under what’s left of the house,” Arthur said grimly, and that put an end to that.

Myrddin returned his attention to the box and looked down at its contents. There were two books within. Both were leather-bound, of different colours and sizes. Both looked very old. The book on top was the largest, brown with heavily decorated brass hinges, corners, and clasp. He picked it up and opened the clasp on it, feeling, knowing that this belonged to him. That it had belonged to him for a very long time. He was careful as he turned the pages, looking down at beautiful colours and words and the occasional illustration by someone who had put a lot of care and love into the work.

“It’s a book of magic,” he realised aloud, looking up at the others, to see their reactions, to see that he was not mad for thinking so.

Morgana had been leaning over to look at it even as he’d taken it out of the box. She looked as though she itched to touch it, to see that it was real, to see the secrets it held, but she kept her hands to herself for now.

“It’s old,” she said to him, something that he thought he’d known, somehow.

“I wonder how you ended up with it,” Gwaine murmured. “There are hardly any Grimoires left now. The Elders have one, of course, and a few of the older families have their copies that have been passed down through the generations, but they’re so rare… Maybe your family, whoever they were, even if they’re long dead, left it to you?”

“Maybe,” he agreed, closing the heavy tome and running a hand over the leather cover, somehow feeling its age, its power. It belonged to him. He wondered when he had been given it, how it was that he had ended up with it. A family member, as Gwaine had said, was the most likely option, but Gaius had told him that he had no family to speak of, that he’d had no one. The house had showed him that much. He handed the tome to Morgana who looked slyly at him with a hint of a smile.

“Go for it,” he said, gesturing to the cover. She smiled brightly for the first time since she had woken up and, carrying the heavy grimoire, she went to sit by Gwaine so that they could pour over the book together. He would want it back, he knew that much even as he handed it over to her. But there was another book in here that was still waiting for his attention.

Another grimoire, maybe. The cover of the second book was far more plain to look at, however. Made of leather that had been stained a deep purple, it was thicker than the book that had been above it. He lifted it out and set the box on the floor. There was still a large, blue jewel left within that had been under this tome, but he let that be for now. He pulled the purple book into his lap and brought his feet up onto the edge of the armchair so that he could rest the book on his knees.

He opened the cover and turned the first blank page, then saw with interest that he was looking at a journal. The words spilling across the pages, as he turned a few without really looking, were strewn with blotches and patches where the ink had run out, then more where too much had been used. As though the one writing had been in some sort of hurry.

“It’s a journal,” he said, “Written by hand,” he added, turning back to that first page.

This tome, with its stained, yellow pages, was not quite so old as the grimoire, yet it was old enough that Myrddin was certain that it was from a time hundreds of years before he had been born. 

And yet, as he focused on the first page which was dated with the Summer of the year 484, he saw with some confusion that the handwriting was not dissimilar to his own. He fell silent as he read. The first entry was short and spoke of arriving in a place called Camelot, of seeing people killed, of fear, and of meeting a physician by the name of Caius. He mouthed the name, frowning, and turned the pages. He didn’t read so much as let his eyes skip over the words that had been written in his own hand for some reason that he couldn’t understand yet. A Lady Morgan was mentioned, as was one Prince Arturus, and a maid by the name of Gwenhwyfar. He looked up at Arthur, wondering if he had read the words, too.

“…Morgana, have you ever heard of names like this?” he asked her, not bringing up the fact that he was fairly sure he had written the words.

“Names like what?” she asked, looking up from where she had been absorbed in looking through the old grimoire, so different to any she had seen before.

“There’s an Uthyr, and a Morgan…” he turned a chunk of pages until he reached a new date, this one reading 487 and mentioning another. “There’s a Gawain, but there’s an extra ‘a’ and no ‘e’…” he looked up, knowing the expression on his face was one of confusion.

“It sounds like someone wrote a copy of a fairytale, though goodness knows why you’d lock it up in a box with this. Those names come from a legend,” she said, passing Gwaine the grimoire so that she wouldn’t be distracted by it.

“A fairytale?” Myrddin asked. “Then… why are these names similar to yours? Morgan, that’s not a big stretch from Morgana… are you… this is in my handwriting,” he finally admitted, thinking it important, “Are you sure I didn’t know you? Before?”

“Myrddin, I’m sorry to tell you that before we met in the alley, I’d never seen you in my life. But you’re right, Morgan isn’t a big stretch from Morgana. It’s a bit like… well, you’ve heard of biblical names, haven’t you?” she asked, and Myrddin shook his head. Of course he hadn’t.

Arthur explained, since this was something he did have some knowledge of.

“The bible’s a book of lessons that people of a particular belief follow,” he said, trying to explain it in as simple a way as possible. “And there are characters in it who are called things that people then name their children after.”

“You’re saying that these names are characters in a fairytale?” Myrddin asked.

“It’s just a fairytale, a legend. My namesake, Lady Morgan, was an enchantress who lived a long time ago, just like legend says they all did. She… wasn’t exactly the hero of the fairytale, but she fought for what she believed in, and that was that all magic users be seen as equal to mortals. It’s something that’s still not happened, even today.”

“Then, what happened?”

“Well, it’s not true, none of it. It’s genuinely just legend, bedtime stories, practically. They’re about a warlock whose name’s been lost to the ages. In legend, he was the advisor to the great King Arturus.”

“That name’s in here, too,” Myrddin said, turning back to a page where he remembered seeing it. “He’s a prince, though. At least, that’s what it says here, anyway,” he added when Morgana looked at him.

“Well, obviously, he was a prince once. The warlock and King Arturus met when they were young, and the warlock became his closest friend and advisor so that magic users could once again emerge from the shadows and into the public light as they had once been. But poor attempts at forcing the matter by other sorcerers turned King Arturus’ heart against magic users all the more. Still, knowing he was a great king, the warlock supported him through the beginning of his reign, knowing that, together, they might have a chance of reaching a golden age where mortals and sorcerers could coexist happily, as had once been. Arturus was a great king, and had the warlock had enough time, he would have succeeded. He taught the king that to marry a commoner was not beneath him, that it was right to do so for love, and so, Arturus married Gwenhwyfar who became Queen. The warlock even helped the King create a new code for Knights that allowed any man, noble or no, the ability to become a Knight of the Round Table.”

“That’s where the best characters come in,” said Gwaine with a grin, “You know, Sir Gawain and Sir Lancelin. Even Sir Lyon and Sir Percevale aren’t too bad. But obviously, Sir Gawain was the best.”

“Well, he was mortal, but he was a great friend to the warlock… But we’ve gone off topic. Eventually, the Lady Morgan and her ally, Sir Medrod, sought to bring about the peace that the warlock looked to create, but the only way they could see was through force. King Arturus died, as did any chance of mortals and sorcerers existing alongside each other. Legend says that one day, he’ll return, and it is then that we will be able to come out of the shadows.”

“But it’s just legend,” said Gwaine, shrugging. “They’re pretty tales, but they’re just that. I’d offer to lend you my copy of the book, but it’s just what we’ve told you, really. The prose is a bit general, a bit vague, a bit wooly, nothing detailed, really.”

“And Myrddin’s already got his very own handwritten copy,” said Morgana with a smile. “You never know, it might be a first edition. That would explain why it’s handwritten. It’s a bit big, though. The copy I used to get read from was thin as anything,” she said, holding her thumb and forefinger close together to demonstrate just how thin the book had been.

“It could just be big because it’s handwritten,” Arthur offered, leaning over Myrddin’s shoulder to see the pages.

“But this is detailed,” Myrddin said, looking up at them in confusion. “There’s nothing vague or wooly about it. It says things like ‘Caius sent me to the Lady Morgan with a sleeping draught to calm her visions’, and little things all around the rest of the story you’ve just described. It’s like I’m reading the diary of one of these… these characters.”

“Weird. Can I see?” Morgana asked, standing up, ready to take the journal from Myrddin so that she could investigate further when Alice walked in, carefully balancing a fresh pot of tea and five mugs on a tray.

For some reason, Myrddin felt less willing to hand over this book that he had apparently written with dates from so long ago that it was impossible for him to have written them.

“It’s all in first person, too,” he said to Morgana, closing the book and putting it back into the box where it belonged, intending to shut the lid because he didn’t want the others to see, didn’t want them to think of him as odd that he had, for whatever reason, written about a legend as though he had been there. As though he had been the warlock whose name was lost to the centuries of time and was but a myth. But he wasn’t that. He was Myrddin. Myrddin, a sorcerer who could remember nothing, true, but who was most definitely not hundreds, well over a thousand years old. He might have been a bit beardy, but he wasn’t ancient.

“What’s that?” Alice asked, bending down to retrieve the glowing, blue stone, though she backed off almost instantly when she saw it pulse in response to her touch, when she possibly felt it, too. “Oh, Myrddin. Is this yours?”

“I think so,” he said, glad for the subject change. “We found the box in the house, and Gwaine said it would only open for me, and well, it did, so… I suppose it’s mine. There was a grimoire in it,” he said, pronouncing the word carefully, still unused to hearing it, “And a book of fairytales,” he said, wanting to believe that it was true, that he had just written about it in first person as a way of further exploring them. That would make more sense than any alternative.

To think anything else would just be ridiculous.

Under the serious circumstances, it was perhaps wise to leave ridicule where it belonged.

“Keep the contents of this box safe,” Alice said to Myrddin, carefully picking up the heavy box and placing it in his lap where she seemed to think it belonged. “That stone in particular. I didn’t recognise it at first, but when I touched it… it’s a power stone—”

“You’re joking,” Gwaine interrupted, “A grimoire and a power stone? Alice, even Elder Gorlois doesn’t have this sort of thing. No wonder he never got marked. He didn’t need to!”

“Sorry, what sort of thing?” asked Myrddin.

“Stones of power, such as this one, are rumoured to be from the time of King Arturus and the warlock. We have no idea what they’re created from, and no way of making our own. The only ones still around today are those that have been passed down through families for hundreds of years,” Alice said, “I’ve not seen one since I was a girl. My great uncle possessed one, but it was a small thing compared to this.”

“Do you think Myrddin might have come from a powerful family?”

“I can’t think of any that have gone Above recently, but it is a very real possibility. His family might have gone Above before my lifetime. They could have married into another family. It would certainly explain why I don’t recognise his surname,” Alice said thoughtfully.

Myrddin looked down at the journal, at the power stone, then glanced over to the grimoire, feeling the stirrings of something within, different to magic, as though he were feeling, as though he were beginning to remember something, though what, he did not know. It was all so strange. What they were saying about the things that were his, that they were old, came from long ago, it was so odd, and he began to wonder if—

Morgana interrupted his train of thought by speaking.

“Gwaine,” she said, looking over to her friend then, any levity that the talk about old fairytales had brought was gone now. “The two that attacked you, they weren’t—”

“I’d have told you if they were,” he said to her, and while she looked relieved, she still seemed troubled.

“Were what?” Arthur asked, looking to his sister. She shook her head and reached over to help herself to one of the mugs of tea.

“If either of the sorcerers had been Mordred,” Gwaine said so that Morgana didn’t have to. “All those that have gone missing, they’ve either moved on from the City Below and are trying their hand at living Above, or they never lived Below to begin with. Some people I used to know went missing recently,” he said then, and Myrddin watched as his fists clenched almost imperceptibly, feeling terrible for him. Under the cheerful exterior, Gwaine was troubled. Perhaps that was why his façade was so comic. Tragedies and comedies were often closer in nature than people thought. He frowned as he tried to remember where he’d heard that before, but shook his head. He could wonder about that later.

“I was looking for Percival and Elena in the faces of the two we met today,” Gwaine said, and laughed, but it was a bitter laugh that left Myrddin chilled to hear. “And it wasn’t them. And at first, I was relieved, but then… then I wished that it had been them, because at least I’d know where they were—”

“But the two we met today died,” Arthur said, frowning, looking at Gwaine as though surprised to hear he’d had such a dark thought.

“I know. And even dead, I’d at least have known where they were. And then I felt terrible for thinking that, because this must mean they’re still alive, but then I wonder if they are, and—” he broke off, looking away from them all. His eyes were shining with emotion, but he didn’t let any of it out. His mask was more impressive than Arthur’s. At the very least, it was more carefully crafted than his. “We will find them. We’ll find all of them. But we won’t do it just sitting here.”

He stood then, ready to leave, to go and do something, anything, when there came a frantic knocking from the front door, repetitive and ceaseless enough that whoever it was that was knocking ended up banging at the door.

Myrddin was the one to answer it. He thought it best if only because he was fairly certain that if Gwaine went to the front door, they’d not see him again. And they couldn’t afford to lose him. Not when they needed his help in all this. So, he stopped him from going out into the foyer by handing him the heavy box, then turned and went to answer the front door.

His guess was that it would be Gaius, back from hospital. It was raining, so he had probably left his keys behind and was now trying to get indoors before he was soaked through to the skin. Why he didn’t ring the doorbell was anyone’s guess.

It took Myrddin a moment to work out exactly how to unlock the front door, but he pulled it open as soon as he had only to end up with an armful of Guinevere whose tears mixed with the rain drops on her face.

“Myrddin, they’ve taken Lancelot. I didn’t know where else to go, I don’t—”

“Who has?” Myrddin asked her, holding tightly onto her for he didn’t know what else he could do.

“They took him away— they said they’d only let him live if they had you, I couldn’t do anything—”

Jaw set, Myrddin noticed for the first time that Guinevere was bleeding from a cut above her eye, and the corner of her mouth on the same side, like she’d been hit.

“We’ll get him back,” he promised her before he called for Alice and shut the front door.


	16. Chapter Fifteen: The Brother's Return

Chapter Fifteen 

The Brother's Return

Gaius returned a few moments after Guinevere, and it was he that fixed her up, that placed butterfly stitches along the cuts on her face once he had cleaned them. Eventually, she stopped crying and told them what had happened. 

She and Lancelot had left them at the house and gone on to the gallery, as planned. After that, they’d gone on to a restaurant that was only a short walk away, Lancelot had said. With that in mind, they’d taken the back streets instead of going along the main roads. They’d been cutting down the alleyway, had seen the restaurant across the road and been discussing a particularly beautiful sculpture they’d seen when they were attacked. At first, Guinevere said that she’d thought they were being mugged, and Lancelot had too, for he had tried to speak peaceably, to talk the muggers down. But then their eyes had glowed and they’d done something strange with their hands that had sent Lancelot toppling forwards, as though pulled by an invisible string. One of them had run for Lancelot, and Guinevere had tried to reach him before they did, certain that they would hurt him. She had been hit across the face for her efforts and, as she toppled against the wall, gasping, the man who’d reached Lancelot stood up with his unconscious body in his arms. He’d been huge, she told them, taller than Myrddin and Gwaine, and he’d carried Lancelot as though he weighed nothing. 

Then the girl who’d been with him spoke. She’d been blonde, Guinevere said, and it was with that description that Gwaine seemed to brighten some in excitement, as though he recognised the sorcerers by their descriptions alone. She had told Guinevere that unless Myrddin Wyllt was delivered to them, then Lancelot du Lac would be killed. She had said that they would send someone for him, that they’d know where he would be, and that unless Myrddin went, they could say goodbye to any chance of ever seeing Lancelot again, alive or dead. 

Myrddin shook his head quietly. The anger had been building up as he had listened to Guinevere’s story threatened to bubble over now. How dare they? How dare they attack his friends, the people who had taken him in and cared for him? How dare they threaten them just to get to him? He stood and grabbed the grimoire, dropping it unceremoniously into the box with the journal, then, without shutting the lid, he handed it to Alice. 

“I’m going to go to them,” he told her. “I can’t keep letting this happen. I can’t keep seeing my friends attacked and hurt on my behalf. They’re after me. For whatever reason, they’re after me, and if I don’t go to them when they come for me, how long is it until they burn your house down? Until they try and kill Morgana, until they kidnap Arthur, until they—” 

He broke off, too angry and upset to carry on speaking. They had to understand. 

“You cannot go, Myrddin,” said Gaius, not about to sit and let this happen, “It would be walking to your own death. The Ancient One has been trying to kill you from the moment you stepped out of the hospital, you cannot—” 

Myrddin was surprised when Alice interrupted her husband. 

“I understand,” she said. “I would do the same.” 

The doorbell rang once, almost politely. 

It was Morgana who stood to answer it. 

“If this is them, you’re not going alone,” Gwaine said to Myrddin. “The sorcerers Guinevere described, they sound just like Percival and Elena. This means that they’re alive. They’re not themselves, but they’re alive. And I know they won’t be themselves, but I have to see them. And Gaius is right, it’s too dangerous to go alone.” 

“You’re going nowhere without me,” Arthur said to Myrddin with such determination that it made his heart beat faster. This was why he had to go. Why he had to give himself up. He couldn’t let his friends be harmed because of him. 

“Mordred!” came Morgana’s overjoyed shout from the foyer. 

“Mordred?” Arthur asked, climbing up and running out of the living room and into the foyer, as surprised as the rest of them. 

Myrddin followed him and stopped when he saw Morgana embracing a sorcerer with dull, gold eyes. She had crossed the threshold and stood out in the rain, his arms about her waist, and hers about his shoulders. He had dark hair like Morgana’s and the same pale skin. His face, as opposed to the expressionless ones of his counterparts, had a smile on it, though to Myrddin, it seemed strained, almost forced. 

“I’ve missed you,” he was saying to her, cupping her face with his hands and looking into her eyes as though she meant the world to him. It was almost an odd thing for a brother to do. 

“Why didn’t you come sooner?” she asked, tears that could only have been of relief running down her face. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you—” 

“You’d not have found me, no matter where you looked,” he confided in her. 

Myrddin wondered that Morgana hadn’t noticed his eyes yet. He couldn’t help but think that this was not the Mordred she knew. 

“You’re— you’ve only come here now for Myrddin,” Morgana said, watching as Mordred gave a small nod, as though he were sorry for it. 

“He has to come with me. And you can come, too. I’ve missed you. I want you there with me, Morgana. And he has to, or—” he broke off, frowning as though something terrible would happen to him if he didn’t. 

“I’ll go with you,” Morgana promised him. 

“Morgana, he’s not himself, look at his eyes,” Arthur protested even as she turned a venomous look on him for saying so. 

“I’m going with him. He’s still in here, look, he remembers me. I have to go. I have to get him back. And he’ll not let me be harmed, you know he won’t. If we go with Mordred, we’ll be safe. He won’t hurt us.” 

While Myrddin intended to go no matter what, he couldn’t help but think that harm was the only thing intended. For himself if not for the others, and for the others if he didn’t cooperate. But he would cooperate. It was the only thing left to him now. The time for running around and trying to find some element of surprise with which to find and help the sorcerers who had suffered the fate that had been intended for him was over. 

“Of course I won’t hurt you,” said Mordred quite on cue. 

“I’ll go with him,” Myrddin said. 

“And I will be happy to transport you. Come here.” 

“Why?” 

“I can’t come in,” Mordred said, gesturing to the door frame where Myrddin had noticed the protective symbols the night before. “You shall have to come out. The wards placed on this house aren’t exactly in keeping with my master’s will.” 

Myrddin almost smiled. Of course he couldn’t come in. The cottage was warded against those that intended harm. 

He thought about saying no for a brief moment, about telling him that he wouldn’t. But Morgana was out there with him. She was out there with him, and if he were to say no, he didn’t think that the fact that she was Mordred’s sister would help her. He was fairly sure that the love and open affection that Mordred was showing her would only last so long as it was beneficial to him. 

So, he did what Arthur didn’t want him to do. And he knew Arthur didn’t want him to do it, because he grabbed at Myrddin’s sleeve to try and stop him as he stepped over the threshold and out into the rain. 

And the moment he did, Mordred shot him a smile that was really quite evil and triumphant, even. He let go of Morgana and approached, pulling handcuffs from a pocket and clicking them shut about Myrddin’s wrists. 

“I’m sorry about this,” he said even as he smiled, “But this is what he said to do.” 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Arthur demanded, looking as though he would happily strike Mordred in that moment, only managing to refrain with the look Myrddin gave him. 

“Who?” Myrddin asked. 

Mordred didn’t reply, but then, the name of the Ancient One didn’t really matter. Not now. 

“I want to go, too,” said Guinevere from the doorway to the living room. Gwaine stood by her, and Gaius behind. Gaius made to reach for Guinevere, to try and stop her from doing something so foolish when she could have no impact on things, but she shook him off. 

“They’ve got Lancelot,” she said, expression determined. 

“The more the merrier,” Mordred said, and it was then that Myrddin noticed the almost monotone quality about his voice. Somehow, it was threatening. It reminded Myrddin that however friendly Mordred seemed to be to Morgana, however like himself she thought him to be, it simply wasn’t true. Here was a man in thrall of another. Everything the Ancient One wanted, Mordred was doing, and happily so. His will belonged to the one who had captured him, no matter what Morgana seemed to think. 

Arthur looked as though he wanted Mordred dead. He stood close to Myrddin, as though he’d not let anyone touch him, as though he would die before he let anyone hurt him, fearsomely protective of him, and if he’d not had cuffs about his wrists, Myrddin would have embraced him, touched by the loyalty he was showing him. It made his heart flutter and his stomach lurch in an almost pleasant way to know just how much Arthur cared. Arthur took one of Myrddin’s bound hands then, apparently recalling how magical transportation worked. He’d not let Myrddin be taken anywhere without him. 

The only reason Myrddin wasn’t panicking about the cuffs at his wrists was because he felt certain, as they had clicked shut, that he could break them apart through will alone. Not because he was strong, no, but because he could already feel his magic creeping into the lock, ready to break it the moment he wanted it. 

But not yet. Let Mordred tell the Ancient One that Myrddin was harmless, that he wasn’t a threat, that there could be no fight to be had from him. That was surely a better element of surprise than any they had hoped for yet. 

Gwaine strolled out from the magical protection that the cottage offered and into the rain, hands in the pockets of his jacket, the anger and distress that he’d displayed earlier seemingly gone to be replaced with his usual joviality. Apparently, the certain danger they were about to walk into wasn’t a problem for Gwaine, for he genuinely didn’t seem to care. He took one hand out of his pockets and offered it to Morgana who took it without question. Guinevere seemed to realise in that moment that something was happening and rushed out of the cottage, too, taking the free hand that Arthur offered her. No one would be left behind. And whatever waited for them, wherever they were going, it would be best for them to face it together. 

Mordred was stood in the middle, looking as though everything was going as it ought to. But Myrddin couldn’t blame him for that. After all, as far as the Ancient One was concerned, he was being brought more sorcerers to turn into mindless slaves that did his bidding. And he was finally getting Myrddin who he’d wanted to get hold of for a long time now. And not only that, but he’d have the ones Myrddin loved there, too, mortals and sorcerers alike, with which to make him do whatever he wanted. After all, they had taken Lancelot for that very purpose. 

And Myrddin would let him think that. He didn’t know that Myrddin would be out of the handcuffs in the blink of an eye. Myrddin himself hadn’t known it until the moment they’d been placed on him. 

They would finally see the place where all the kidnapped sorcerers were taken to. They would see the place where they were changed into mindless servants. They would meet the Ancient One. And Myrddin was fairly sure that the Ancient One would have to die, for how else would they release the sorcerers? But first, he would find out why. Why this had happened, and why he was needed so badly. That way, they could try and stop this from ever happening again. 

He watched as Mordred held his hand out to Morgana, and as he pressed it to his lips when she gave it to him. Then, he watched as the sorcerer reached out for Myrddin. He held his breath and closed his eyes as Mordred’s hand closed about his shoulder in what felt like the grip of a vice. The pain was not exactly pleasant, but it was nothing when compared to the tearing feeling that came with whatever magic it was that this mindless sorcerers used to travel.


	17. Chapter Sixteen: The Underworld

Chapter Sixteen 

The Underworld

He couldn’t open his eyes. He could hardly breathe. Each and every breath he took felt as though knives were stabbing into his lungs. He tried to roll over, but his body simply would not respond to him. His wrists hurt, he realised then, and he tried to move them only to gasp in pain as the metal around them felt as though it were cutting into his skin. He focused on that pain. Pulling at the metal that bound him again, he made the pain the centre of his world until he could pull himself back to consciousness. 

He opened his eyes and tried to sit up, but he couldn’t manage it and remained where he was, lying on his side. Focusing ahead of him in the dim light, he saw with relief that Arthur lay beside him, his hand still holding his tightly. Guinevere lay a few feet away, as though she had let go as soon as they’d landed. He was sure that Gwaine and Morgana would be on his other side, if they hadn’t woken up already. He released Arthur’s hand and twisted his body painfully over to the side until he could rock forwards, and scramble onto his knees. He let his head fall back as he tried to catch his breath, body aching with the effort of moving after he felt rather as though he’d been torn apart only to be stuck crudely back together again. He looked around then, once he’d caught his breath, once it didn’t hurt so much. 

Gwaine was there, lying on his side as he’d expected him to be. Morgana, however, was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Mordred. He didn’t let himself panic. Not yet. It still served Mordred well to have Morgana on his side. To have her look at him and see her little brother rather than a servant of the Ancient One. And that, Myrddin thought, was exactly what Mordred would be doing now. He would be making Morgana believe that, so long as she went along with whatever he said, then everything would be fine. Otherwise, he might end up hurt, and wouldn’t that be all her fault? 

He let out a long, shaky breath. Then, slowly, because it wasn’t easy to balance with his hands bound, he climbed to his feet, taking deep breaths to fight against the darkness that appeared at the edges of his vision with the movement. Guinevere, Arthur and Gwaine were lying where Myrddin had been; on a richly patterned carpet in a living room more lavishly decorated and more grand than any he had ever seen. The furniture here was regal in appearance, and looked utterly uncomfortable besides, with straight backs to the armchairs and sharp corners wherever a corner could be. 

And as this was a living room, it stood to reason, really, that it was in a place where someone lived. It may not have looked homely, of course, but that did not mean that it wasn’t. It was then that he realised that the someone who lived here must have been the Ancient One.  

The cuffs at his wrists were hurting him. He so wanted them off, but he couldn’t remove them. Not yet, anyway. He looked down at his hands, unsurprised to see that he had begun to bleed where he had forcibly made the cuffs cut into his own skin to wake himself up. 

There was a sharp intake of breath as Arthur awoke. The first thing he did was call for Myrddin, and he of course wasted no time at all in crouching down and placing his bound hands on either side of his face to let him know that he was still there, that he was safe. For now, at least. 

“I’m here,” he breathed, and he kissed him once out of fear that he might not be able to do so again. Yes, he would be able to free himself from these bonds, but he did not know his own magic, not really. He knew he could make it bend to his will, that he could use it as an extension of himself, but this was the Ancient One. This was the Ancient One who had an army of sorcerers at his disposal. And while he would have the element of surprise, while he would be able to pretend to be defenceless only to be nothing of the sort, he was not confident, now, that it would be enough. Even with Gwaine on his side. And he could not help but think that, somehow, they had lost Morgana now, too. 

Arthur kissed him in turn. It was soft and sweet, almost like a farewell. As though he, too, was scared, but knew that doing as the Ancient One had commanded was the only thing they could do. This was the right thing to do. They had to try and get Lancelot back. Lancelot who had never asked to be involved in all this. They could not have left him here to die. At least this way, even if Myrddin wasn’t strong enough, Lancelot would live. There was no reason for the others to not live, either. It was only Myrddin that had to die, really. According to the Ancient One’s will, at least. 

“Do not put yourself in danger for me,” Myrddin told Arthur, speaking quietly. He was determined to snatch these few moments they had been given while they still could. 

“Whatever makes you think I would do something like that?” Arthur asked, trying to be funny. 

Myrddin laughed through the tears that were pricking at his eyelids. 

“Promise me,” he pleaded with him. 

“I just can’t do that,” Arthur said, “And I won’t lie to you and say that I’ll promise, because I won’t do that to you either. Not now.” 

He kissed him again, both thankful and upset all at once. He didn’t know that he could handle it if Arthur willingly put himself in harm’s way for him. Of course, if he died in this, it would make no difference whether Arthur did so or not, but that did not mean that he was any happier about it. Yet, he still felt thankful that Arthur was willing to do this for him, even if he’d told him not to. 

“Help me up,” the blond said, and even though Myrddin had his wrists bound together, he did as he was asked, standing up again with some difficulty, then bending to hold onto Arthur’s hands so that he could pull him up. 

“I ache all over,” Arthur began to complain before he stopped in his tracks, eyes wide as he looked around the room they were in. “It can’t be,” he gasped, casting his gaze around almost wildly. “It looks… it looks like home.” 

Myrddin looked about again, more confused, perhaps, than Arthur was. 

He let go of Arthur and took a few steps over to one of the long, high windows that looked outside, seeing, for the first time, that the windows looked out on what appeared to be a great cavern. Its walls were curved and hewn from rock that appeared to be perpetually damp, as though they were in a cave of sorts. 

“You live in a cave?” Myrddin asked, simply because it was strange enough that he had to know. 

“Of course not,” Arthur said, moving to join him at the window, to look out with him. 

This was no home that Arthur had ever known, not really. Rather, it was a mere mockery of it. Myrddin wondered exactly how the Ancient One would benefit from making this place look like Arthur’s home, but eventually shook his head. He couldn’t begin to fathom the reasons why the Ancient One did anything at all. He didn’t know what he had hoped to achieve by kidnapping sorcerers and turning them into faithful servants who could not think for themselves, either. He hoped now that, even if he did die, he would find out the truth before he did. 

There was a low groan from behind them as Gwaine tried to push himself up, his arms giving out almost immediately so that he ended up flat on his face, a grunt leaving him as he fell again. 

“I feel like I’ve been drugged,” he said, shaking his head and trying again, moving slowly this time. He looked as weak and pained as Myrddin had felt when he had first woken up. 

Gwaine looked about and instantly voiced the problem that Myrddin hadn’t mentioned to Arthur yet for fear of worrying him any further, though he was fairly sure that Arthur had already noticed. 

“Where’s Morgana?” Gwaine asked, leaning heavily on the arm of one of the chairs that were spaced evenly about the room. There was a bricked-up fireplace in the centre of the room, Myrddin noticed. He wondered at that, but then supposed that the Ancient One probably didn’t care much for comfort when he lived in what amounted to a dark, wet cave. Though where that cave was, he couldn’t have said. 

“I don’t know,” said Myrddin, turning away from the window and looking over to Gwaine whose expression was one of determination, his jaw set. 

“She’s gone with Mordred, hasn’t she,” Arthur said. It wasn’t a question. 

“I don’t know. When I woke up, she was gone. But probably. Mordred wasn’t here either,” Myrddin told him. 

“She’s convinced that he’s the same as he’s always been. She’s determined to believe that she’s completely safe with him, that she won’t be harmed, that she’ll be able to get him on our side… I don’t know why she’s not thinking, but she isn’t,” said Gwaine with a shrug. “I’m not going to make that mistake when I see Elena and Percival.” 

“How can you say that? You’ve not seen them since they went missing. For all you know, you’ll act exactly the same as she has. I mean, they’ll look like themselves. Mordred’s even behaving like himself, for the most part,” Arthur said. It wasn’t an attack on Gwaine by any means. He was simply warning him, telling him that he must be careful.  

And it was a fair enough comment, Myrddin thought. How could Gwaine know how he’d behave? These people were still themselves. If they were given control of their own thoughts back, they would still be the people Gwaine and Morgana loved. And to kill them would be killing their friends. 

“…I suppose you’re right. But I’ll be treating them as hostile, all the same. They don’t know us, not really, at least, I don’t think they will. The best thing we can do is to capture them and take them to Alice. She might be able to break whatever enchantment is on their minds that made them like this. She seemed familiar enough with it when you described the man who attacked Arthur, Myrddin.” 

“I think so, too. Our best chance is to catch them without hurting them.” 

“If we can,” said Arthur. 

Myrddin gave a quiet nod, looking down at the cuffs at his wrists. 

“I’m of no doubt that we’ll meet the Ancient One soon,” he said, “And he is strong enough to have kidnapped countless sorcerers and turned them into nothing more than puppets. We’re just… we were five, and now we’re four. And I’m not confident that we can do this—” 

“You know, I’m not so sure that this speech of yours is doing much for our morale,” Arthur said. 

Myrddin gave a weak chuckle. 

“Whatever we face, we’ll face it together,” Gwaine said firmly. “Morgana… we don’t know where she is. If we see her, we can try and get her to come to us, but if she says no, we leave her.” 

“…agreed,” said Arthur, to Myrddin and Gwaine’s surprise. 

“Really?” 

“Well, she’s not thinking, is she?” 

“…you’re right,” Myrddin agreed. 

“Can we get these off?” Gwaine asked then, reaching for Myrddin’s cuffs. 

He took a step away from Gwaine, shaking his head and pressing a finger to his own lips, moving with some difficulty thanks to the cuffs. 

Thankfully, both Gwaine and Arthur appeared to catch on, and said nothing. Who knew who was watching them? 

It appeared to be the right thing to do, for as Guinevere began to finally stir, footsteps began to echo within the house. 

“They’re coming from the— from outside,” Arthur said, apparently about to say one thing before he caught himself, quickly correcting his words before they could escape. He went to help Guinevere slowly to her feet, careful, since she had been unconscious up until that moment and her body was bound to ache just as badly as theirs, given what she had been through. 

Amazingly, she didn’t panic to see that they were in a new place entirely. 

“Where’s Lancelot?” was the first question she asked. 

“Safe, for now,” came Mordred’s voice from a door that had, up until that moment, been locked, though none of them had gathered their wits enough to try it yet after the way they had been brought here. Not even Arthur who recognised this place as a copy of his home. 

Myrddin didn’t have the time to begin wondering at that again because Gwaine was speaking over his thoughts, loud enough that his voice blocked them out. 

“Where’s Morgana?” he demanded of Mordred who gave a thin smile in return. 

“She’s safe too, obviously. She’s my sister. As though I would ever even think of harming her.” 

“But you’re not her brother, though, are you?” Myrddin asked, carefully crossing the distance between them until he stood before Mordred. And of course, the mindless sorcerer did not seem to care that he was so close. After all, what harm could he do, cuffed as he was? “Because you aren’t Mordred. Not really. Right now, you’re just his shell. And you’ve fooled Morgana well enough, but not us.” 

Mordred’s smile vanished. And instead, he jerked his head slightly, indicating that they were to go with him now. 

“Percival,” he called, rather than respond to Myrddin’s taunts. 

From the dark beyond the doorway, a man who was well over six feet tall appeared. His eyes were the same, dull gold as Mordred’s, marking him out as one of the mindless. 

“Percival,” Gwaine breathed, approaching almost as though he were desperate to get to him, his reaction exactly the same as Morgana’s had been, no better, no worse. 

He was stopped by the blank look the newcomer gave him. 

“Hello, Gwaine,” said Percival in a clipped monotone. No recognition showed on his face. 

And Gwaine, rather than try and speak to him as though he were still himself, looked away from him, mumbling something about it not really being him, that he wasn’t really there. 

They were shells, these sorcerers. They did the Ancient One’s bidding above all. They didn’t care about anything or anyone else. 

“Come on, then,” Mordred said, turning and walking from the living room without looking behind him to see whether they were following or not. 

Myrddin picked up his feet and began to walk. He went past Percival who stood, stoic, to the side of the doorway. He had to squeeze by, but once he had, he found himself in a dimly lit corridor, decorated as though it were a welcoming, homely place. 

Arthur was behind him, not about to allow Myrddin to go anywhere alone. Guinevere was behind Arthur, and behind her was Gwaine. Percival followed close at his back, and Myrddin didn’t miss that Gwaine could not stop himself from glancing back at the mindless man.  

However much he told himself that it wasn’t really Percival, it didn’t seem to make much of a difference. Here was the shell of a sorcerer looked just like him, and it was enough. Myrddin wondered if this wasn’t rather key in the Ancient One’s plans, or why else would he take sorcerers that the people from the City Below would recognise? It would always delay the hand, always make someone hesitate, perhaps fatally. Myrddin was lucky, in a way, to not know any of them. But had it been Arthur, or Morgana, or Gwaine, he knew that he would be behaving the same as Gwaine was now, the same as Morgana had done. He would be no better than them. He would be just as short sighted. 

“It’s just like home,” Arthur said, quiet as they walked. 

“Is it?” Mordred asked from the front as he led them through the corridor and into a grand foyer, no surprise registering in his voice. Myrddin wasn’t sure he could feel surprised, though. He wasn’t certain that the mindless could feel anything at all. “Strange, isn’t it?” 

Arthur bit his lower lip on any further retort, Myrddin saw, but he found himself looking around in confusion. Why should this place look like Arthur’s home? There had to be something to it. 

There was a high chandelier above their heads, and the crystals that hung from it were black and opaque, yet another thing that had Arthur frowning. The light that cast down onto the entrance hall, such as it was, was purple and almost dark in nature. It barely lit anything at all. 

From there, they crossed the hall and passed a corridor that branched off to a place where Arthur’s gaze seemed drawn. He almost went down there until Guinevere walked into him and they each stumbled for a moment. Guinevere returned the favour he had afforded her earlier and righted him. She gave him what she seemed to think of as a supportive smile, and Arthur carried on walking. 

“Not far now,” said Mordred as they passed another living room, or could it have been called a drawing room? There were sorcerers within, dressed in black and stood stock still. Gwaine gasped as they went past, seeing yet more sorcerers that he recognised. It was an entirely doubtful outcome, but if they had recognised him, they didn’t have the chance to say so before Percival was shoving Gwaine along again. He had no care or kindness to offer someone who had once been his friend, as though none of that mattered anymore, and why should it? 

Mordred continued to lead them on with Percival behind them, taking them to what Myrddin had begun to think of, with a dreadful certainty, as their doom.   
Eventually, they stopped before a grand set of double doors. 

Myrddin glanced back at Arthur, wondering if he knew where they were, if he knew anything that might help them. 

“We’re here,” Arthur said, a look of dread beginning to pass over him as he looked at the tall double doors, fists loosely clenched. 

“Right you are, Arthur,” said Mordred as he turned the golden handles and gave the doors a push. They swung slowly inwards, giving them their first view of what lay beyond. 

It was a ballroom. However, it was not filled with happy couples, dancing to a string orchestra while two party-goers talked the evening away and people enjoyed themselves. Again, there were several chandeliers, high on the ceiling and cut from the same opaque, black crystals as the one in the entrance hall. They cast their dim, purple light down on the scene below. 

The ballroom was filled with sorcerers. Armoured and armed with swords, they stood in rows, shoulder to shoulder and facing away from the doors, to the back of the room. The only space of the ballroom not covered with the mindless sorcerers dressed in black was a centre aisle that Mordred gestured down. 

But they didn’t move. They didn’t start down it because Arthur’s breath had caught in his throat, a disbelieving gasp leaving him at something he had seen. 

It was then that Myrddin realised that this was not a ballroom, but a throne room. 

There was a raised platform directly opposite the double doors, with a few dark, wooden steps leading up to it. Upon the dais sat a throne. The throne was occupied. 

In it, there sat a man. 

“Father,” Arthur breathed in disbelief, in shock, in utter horror. 

The man who was not the Ancient One splayed his hands in a bizarre mockery of a showman who was showing off their latest trick in the hopes of shocking his audience. 

Shock was the right word. 

Where was the Ancient One? 

“Do you like it, Arthur?” asked the man, leaning on one of the arms of his throne, gesturing about the throne room that was absolutely not a ball room. His hair was grey and short, and his face bore evidence of old scars that had long since healed. His face was not one to be forgotten in a hurry, not least because it was similar to Arthur’s own had his been scarred, or had his eyes been grey rather than blue. He wore a suit without a tie. Instead, at his neck there glittered an amulet, a darkened emerald surrounded by thick, burnished gold. On the middle finger of his left hand, beside a wedding ring, sat a large, emerald ring. “I had them craft the place to look just like home. Of course, the fireplaces suffered, since the smoke would never dissipate from the cavern outside, but I rather like it, all the same. Don’t you?” 

“What do you— what are you doing here?” Arthur asked, taking a step forwards, almost compelled, before he stopped himself. 

“Mordred. Good,” said Arthur’s father, ignoring his son’s question in favour of speaking to the mindless sorcerer. “You’ve fetched him. Bring him here, will you?” he asked, gesturing to Myrddin.   
“You can’t have him,” said Arthur, grabbing hold of Myrddin’s other arm. Mordred had already taken one and had begun to pull him up the aisle. 

“But you led me to him, Arthur,” his father said, something like confusion  in his voice. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“You had the trace on Arthur,” Gwaine said before an answer could be given and shook his head, apparently trying to work something out. “Then… but why did the Elders…unless… they thought it was the Ancient One, too.” 

“How funny that you should mention him,” said the man in the throne, his gaze settling on Myrddin whose skin prickled with a chill that was more to do with fear and disgust than the cold of the house so like the one where Arthur had grown up. 

“Why are you doing this?” Myrddin demanded, for he had to ask. He had to know. Here was this man, a mortal, as far as he knew, given that Arthur was, too, and he had been kidnapping sorcerers with the intention of… what? 

“He’s doing it for my mother,” came Morgana’s voice from the front of the throne room. She walked a few steps, her heels clicking against the wooden floor until she ascended the dais and stood a short way from the throne. “Aren’t you, Uther?” 

Even from this distance, he could see the dull, golden glint to her eyes. She, too, had been turned. 

They were surrounded by an army, Myrddin realised then as Mordred gave him a single, hard shove, and he had to walk, had to take a few steps from Arthur whose grip had slackened as he looked at his father in confusion, betrayal written all over his face. 

“You’ve amassed sorcerers from Above because… you’re just a mortal. You can’t go to the City Below,” Myrddin found himself saying, realising that his words were true as he spoke, as he walked, slow about it. “You’ve taken them and turned them to your cause, whatever that may be, with magic, but— why?” 

“Why, the only way to get to their kind is with magic. How else would I have done it? Really, I think it’s a bit late for you to suggest other ideas, don’t you?” asked Uther, as though the question he had been asked was the absurd one. 

“Father, please, stop this now,” said Arthur, gathering his wits enough to finally speak. “I mean, why— why are you doing this? What have sorcerers ever done to you?” 

“They killed your mother, Arthur,” Uther said, his voice cold. 

“They— no, my mother… her death was an accident. She wasn’t—”

“Your mother was killed,” said Uther, pushing himself to his feet and approaching his son. He placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder that Myrddin wished he would remove. He wanted Arthur to shrug his hand off, but the blond was in such a state of shock that he didn’t even appear to register it was there at all. 

“How?” he asked, voice quiet. His life seemed to be built of lies upon lies and it was not getting any better. 

“She was killed by Gorlois le Faye and his kind. And now, here, finally, is my chance to avenge her, to see to it that no sorcerer can ever do this again. He has escaped without punishment now for too many years, but no longer. I shall not let him get away with it. Don’t you see, Arthur? Their kind is the reason she’s dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> I'd like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who's been reading and reviewing this story so diligently! I love reading the reviews and I almost always cackle gleefully when I see that people have questions because it's always what I intend! Thank you for sticking with me for so long, and apologies that I've not responded to reviews - I have to be careful in case I give the story away! With that in mind, though, obviously, this chapter has been a big one in terms of reveals. I'd like to ask, please, if you review this chapter, and I'd of course love it if you did, please do not mention the big spoiler of this chapter! This will keep it a shock for any new readers! :) Thank you again, and I hope you continue to stick with me! I'm loving this journey so far!
> 
> likeasheep x


	18. Chapter Seventeen: The Ancient One

Chapter Seventeen 

The Ancient One

"This is ridiculous," protested Gwaine.

The man behind the disappearances and the attacks turned to look sharply at him.

"My army is complete," he said, "And I am ready to launch the attack on their City. I see nothing ridiculous about that. And now that you're here," he said to Myrddin who stood, jaw set, cuffs at his wrist as he tried to catch Arthur's gaze instead, to see to it that he understood the madness of this. "Now that you're here and no longer pose a threat to my plan, I am free to proceed."

"What's Myrddin got to do with all this?" Arthur asked then, shaking himself from his stupor and from his father's grip as he backed away to stand at the sorcerer's side.

"It hardly matters what he has to do with this, not now that he's here."

"I'm not yours yet. Release Lancelot, and I'll stay."

"You aren't in a position to bargain with me. You have no choice as to whether or not you stay."

"Please, give him back," Guinevere begged, seeing nothing but a madman in Uther. And Myrddin could hardly blame her for being solely focused on Lancelot. She had never asked to be involved in this. And if it had been Arthur in Lancelot's position, he would have behaved the same.

"Luckily, I am a man of my word. Unlike your kind," he spat to Myrddin, then turned to Mordred to address him directly. "Fetch the police constable. You are to take him and the nurse to the surface. They are free to go."

"What about us?" Gwaine demanded, fists clenched.

"You think I'll let you run back to your government and tell them that an attack is coming? Really, now, it would be cruel to do so, wouldn't it? Hm? To tell them of an attack that they have no hope of stopping? It would only panic them."

There was no chance of reasoning with him, Myrddin realised then. Here was a man lost to his own hatred. If Gorlois had killed Arthur's mother, something that was entirely possible, given that they'd had a child together before she had remarried, then it would be only right for him to pay. But to expect an entire society to pay for the wrongs of one man was horrific.

He still could not place why his being out of the way was so important, either.

"Why do you want me?"

"The charade is over, Merlin, don't you think?" Uther asked, and at the look of utter bewilderment on Myrddin's face, his eyes narrowed and an expression rather like triumph crossed his features. "Oh, don't look so surprised. I know who you are. You evaded me for a long time. You knew what I was doing, knew that I was building an army. And now, I have you. Really, you are the last thing standing between me and what I want. And you cannot protect the sorcerers, not any more. They deserve to die, don't you see? Oh, you vanished for a while, you changed your face and disappeared off the grid, but the moment Arthur mentioned that Gaius had a lodger, I knew it was you. I set a trace on him, and there you were."

"What do you mean, you knew who he was?" Arthur demanded, then shook his head. "You've been spying on me?" he demanded next, as though that were the worst thing that Uther had done so far.

"Do you want to tell them, Merlin, or should I?"

"You know, it's pronounced Myrddin," said Gwaine stonily, belligerent to the last.

"Is that what he told you?" Uther mused, then gave a thin smile, and opened his mouth as though he had more to say.

There wasn't time, though, as it turned out.

Myrddin didn't even have time to ponder on what on earth it was that Arthur's father was talking about.

Mordred had returned with Lancelot. He was bruised. There was a cut across his eyebrow with a particularly painful-looking bruise forming about the same eye, but otherwise, he seemed to be intact. Although, actually, now that Myrddin thought about it, he looked positively livid. As though he could quite cheerfully kill someone and not really care who.

Actually, he looked as though he wanted to kill Uther.

Lancelot knew Arthur well. They were good friends. Presumably, he also knew Uther. Myrddin wondered, briefly, if he'd known Uther since he'd been small, as Arthur and Morgana knew Gaius and Alice. He could only imagine how the knowledge of all this must sting the police constable.

"I've gathered enough evidence to arrest you," Lancelot told him, "On counts of arson, kidnap—"

"It's a shame you won't remember, then, isn't it?" Uther asked, waving a hand in Mordred's direction. "I will say this for the sorcerers; magic does have its uses, but I look forward to putting an end to it, once and for all."

"You're mad!" cried Lancelot, the first one to voice what they were all thinking, but this was the last thing he said.

He went limp in Mordred's arms, as though he had suddenly fallen asleep. Mordred's hand moved from the police constable's forehead where it had sparked with green, then took a step away, letting his still-living body drop like so many stones.

Guinevere gave a shout of alarm and made as though to run to him.

But Mordred caught her, too. He placed his hands to her forehead and murmured something quiet, his dull, golden eyes flashing with the same green as the tips of his fingers even as Gwaine moved to stop him, but he was too late. Guinevere collapsed beside Lancelot, unconscious.

"I've had enough of this," Gwaine said, spinning and advancing on the older man only to be stopped by Percival who stood in his way.

Not even a beat passed in which Gwaine looked at the towering man who had once meant so much to him. Then, in a blur, he reached and drew the sword that Percival wore at his belt. It made sense, really, for while magic would be a hard thing for Uther to control en-masse, sheer violence was comparably easy. Gwaine levelled the sword at Percival's chest, taking a step back, the expression on his face pained.

"I don't want to do this," he told him.

"Then don't," said Percival, voice monotone as it always had been since they had first seen him.

Gwaine laughed, but it was tearful and bitter, his grip tightening about the hilt of the sword.

"You always were funny," he said, drawing the sword back and, at the last possible moment, he struck, pushing at the air with his hand and sending Percival spinning out of harm's way because he simply couldn't do it.

He looked desperately to Arthur, to Myrddin, for what chance did they have? Myrddin was bound, Arthur was powerless, and Gwaine couldn't hurt the people he loved any more than Arthur could.

"Now, what were we speaking about before we were interrupted?" Uther questioned, as though he were entirely unconcerned about the little outburst that had just taken place. But then, why should he be worried? He had an entire army. He had already done away with two of their allies. They numbered just three, now. Even Morgana had been turned to his cause. And one of their number was Uther's son. Really, he was right to not worry. The only one who seemed to concern him at all was Myrddin. He had not often taken his gaze from him, something that had Myrddin feeling uneasy. He returned the gaze as much as he was able, when he was not distracted by everything else.

"Ah, yes, I remember," said Uther as he turned and sat again upon the throne he had been seated in when they had first arrived, as though he were lord and master of everything that the dim, purple light cast from the chandeliers touched. "I believe that your friends were waiting for an explanation from you."

Myrddin looked at him. He knew that he looked confused, and he felt it, too. But then it clicked with him. Uther knew something about him that he did not. He knew something and was attempting to exploit it, whatever it was, to his own gain. It had to be something, therefore, designed to have Arthur question where his loyalties lay. As far as Uther was concerned, they of course should be with him. But he was the one in the wrong here. He was the one who had kidnapped innocents in pursuit of one man who may or may not be guilty. He was planning to wipe out an entire people in the pursuit of revenge. Whatever he knew about Myrddin, it could not be so bad as what he was doing.

"I don't know what you mean," he said, truthfully. He held his cuffed wrists before him, chin raised and his shoulders back as he looked at the older man with defiance. His magic pulled irresistibly at the cuffs, but he pushed it down, ignored it, told it to wait. Not yet. What good would revealing himself as a viable threat do in a room of hundreds of sorcerers who were all mindlessly loyal to Uther?

"Must you continue this pretence?" Uther asked, apparently not believing him. He actually looked as though he were bored, as though he were tired of Myrddin's farce.

"What pretence?" he demanded, beginning to feel tired of the cryptic comments, as though he ought to know what he was talking about.

"Why, that you are not what you say you are."

"I've never claimed to be anything that I'm not," Myrddin said, feeling the need to defend himself against these accusations, whatever they were.

"They call you the Ancient One. Do you deny it?"

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"I am talking about you."

"Of course I'm not the Ancient One. He's hundreds of years old, for one, a powerful warlock capable of protecting all those within the City Below until… until recently."

The question as to why the Ancient One had been seen outside Myrddin's home was still one that needed answering.

"Yes, and I would say that the last time the Ancient One personally stopped me from achieving what I'd set out to do was little over five weeks ago," said Uther.

A flicker of confusion and uncertainty crossed Arthur's face.

"I've always known what you were, Merlin," Uther said, smiling to see his son's uncertainty. To see that he had inspired it. "When first you stopped me, I looked into you. For some reason, though, you vanished five weeks ago. For a while, I thought you had finally realised that I would do whatever it takes to avenge my wife. But then you showed up again and refused to disappear a second time, so, I sent a few creatures created by some of the earlier sorcerers I captured. Still, you refused to die. There you were with a younger face, a younger body, a different name… you must tell me how you did it."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Myrddin protested, turning to Arthur who he was losing to this absurd story, this ridiculous fabrication that held absolutely no truth to it. "Arthur, you have to see what he's doing—"

"But he's doing all this for my mother—"

"Arthur, whatever happened to your mother was horrible, but your father is wrong. Everything that we thought the Ancient One had done, all those horrible things, kidnapping sorcerers—"

"—but they're responsible for her—"

"No, Arthur, they're not. An entire people cannot be held accountable for the wrongs of one man, and you know it. We have to stop this. Now. Please."

"But—"

"Arthur. I know you. Look at what he's done to Lancelot! Look at Guinevere! And if not them, look at Morgana! He's turned her into a mindless soldier, just to achieve his aims! He doesn't care about anything but revenge. Please, Arthur."

Arthur looked from Myrddin, to Uther, then back to Myrddin, and finally, down at the floor.

He seemed to be thinking.

Then, he looked up and met his father's eyes, his gaze unwavering.

"Gorlois killed my mother. I… I cannot let him get away with that. I'm…" he let out a breath, looking down for just a second, then back up at Uther. "I'm sorry, Myrddin. I'm with you, father."

He stepped away from Myrddin, and walked over to the man who sat, smug in his throne.

Myrddin felt winded. He couldn't breathe. He watched Arthur leave him, stood in cuffs in the midst of an army that could likely kill him at a word, as though none of it had mattered. He watched Arthur do the wrong thing, watched him throw his lot in with a man who had done things that could easily be classed as terrifying if not evil.

Arthur had his back to him, as though he couldn't look at him.

"How could you?" Myrddin demanded, though his words were weak, and fell on ears that seemingly didn't care to hear him. "Arthur, think about what's right, think about all the people—"

"I don't want to hear this," said Arthur to his father. "Take them away. Please?"

"Girl," Uther said, raising his voice, pleased to have his son at his side in this pursuit at last.

The girl he referred to was blonde and might have been pretty but for the dull, gold glow to her eyes, though the utter lack of expression on her face did not help matters, either.

"Yes?" she asked, voice as dull as her gaze.

"Take the Ancient One and the page to the holding cells."

"Holding cells?" Arthur asked quietly.

"Yes, it's where the sorcerers are placed until they can be… changed."

Myrddin was unsurprised to see that Percival had recovered. He was equally unsurprised to feel his fist close about Myrddin's forearm. He walked where he was pulled because there was no other choice, but his eyes remained on Arthur. He could not believe it.

"Arthur—" he tried, only to be silenced by a particularly vicious shove.

"Elena, don't do this," Gwaine said in undertones to the blonde woman who was guiding him with no less force than Percival was employing.

"Let them rot," said Uther.


	19. Chapter Eighteen: The Amulet

Chapter Eighteen 

The Amulet

Percival deposited Myrddin in the cell by throwing him there. Elena, the blonde woman with the golden eyes, was less forceful about matters where Gwaine was concerned. She simply gave him a light shove into the small room with Myrddin. Then, before he could try and get out, the heavy, metal door was swung shut on them. The irrefutable sound of a key turning in a lock reached them with a heavy, twisting clunk. There was a single window in this room, crossed with bars and open to the still, chill air of the cavern the house was in. It was dark in here but for the single strip of illumination that came from the crack along the edge of the door that had just closed on them. There was no light coming in from outside, and no way of really seeing their surroundings, either. Even summoning a fire would be unwise, given what Uther had said about the fireplaces he’d had to block up here. For some reason, Myrddin believed him, though he very much doubted that these holding cells were an original part of Arthur’s home. 

Arthur. He sank down to the floor, despairing, his back against the wall. 

“I can’t believe he’s… he’s just sided with him. With Uther… how can he not see that he intends on killing hundreds of innocent people? For nothing? For something that happened so long ago, something that none of them deserve to pay for, I— how can he just abandon us?” 

“The dirty rat,” Gwaine spat, kicking at the door. He backed away from it almost immediately, restless. He carded his hands through his hair and cursed as though it would make anything better. 

Myrddin let his head drop to his knees, the chains between his cuffed hands trailing at the floor as he tried to breathe, tried to regain his composure.   
He took a deep breath, then let out a sigh. Then, he took another, and another, until he felt his determination return. 

“Whatever Arthur has done… we have to accept that we’ve lost Morgana, that they’re both…” 

He tried to ignore the pain, to ignore the fact that all they had shared meant nothing. He didn’t think back on the moments they had stolen together. He tried his best not to remember the way Arthur had looked at him before, because when he’d been forced from the throne room, Arthur hadn’t looked at him at all. It had been as though he were nothing. He couldn’t let that sort of emotion cloud his judgment, couldn’t let it stop him from doing what was right. 

Whatever nonsense Uther had spoken in an attempt at getting Arthur on his side, it had worked. And while, in the back of his mind, he thought it made some sense, given the contents of the journal and the fact that he couldn’t remember anything from what his life had been before, it wasn’t something that he could dwell on now. Right now, Uther was planning to launch an attack on the City Below with his army of sorcerers who would not be defeated for the simple reason that they would have family there. Family who loved them and didn’t want to harm them. But, as the mindless wouldn’t share that same wish, that same desire to keep their loved ones safe, the sorcerers of the City Below would be facing certain death. And they couldn’t let that happen. No matter who Myrddin may have been before, it didn’t matter anymore, he realised. What mattered was here and now. 

“We have to stop them. We have to find some way of taking the control of the sorcerers away from Uther without harming them. We still have each other. We have to at least try.” 

“I’m with you,” Gwaine said, simple and determined. 

Myrddin nodded, then looked down at the cuffs that had kept his wrists bound painfully together for far too long now. It was time they came off. 

He let his magic go. He let it creep out from where it had bubbled just below his skin, let it rise and seep into the metal which swiftly rusted, then snapped. He breathed a sigh of relief as they clattered to the ground under Gwaine’s watchful gaze. 

“He obviously thinks you’re important, thinks that you’re… that you’re the Ancient One which is… well, it’s stupid, but that’s not the point. Right now, he thinks you’re harmless. It was a good idea, you had, just standing there, accepting the cuffs like you were powerless to do anything else. At least he’ll believe he’s got the upper hand there. He won’t be expecting us to stop him.” 

“And right now, that’s the only thing in our favour,” Myrddin said, feeling somewhat desperate. He stopped smoothing his fingers over the cuts where he’d managed to dig the metal into his wrists earlier and pushed himself to his feet instead, approaching the heavy door that kept them trapped inside the cell they had been placed in. 

Pressing his ear against the thick, metal door, he strained to listen, to hear anything on the other side. But either there was no one there, or their captors had nothing to say. It could have been either. After all, the mindless sorcerers were not particularly eloquent. He wondered, really, if they all thought the same thing. And if they did, there would be no need for them to speak, for if they lacked their individuality, how could anything they had to say have any value? But now was not the time for that. Now was not the time to be pondering matters of what the mindless did in their spare time. 

He could hear nothing. 

He pressed his hands to the door, bracing himself against it, shoulders set, and tried to reach out with his magic. He was used to letting it operate as though it were a part of his will, now. He was used to knowing what he wanted and allowing the magic to escape, to use its own means in order to reach and achieve his aims. He needed the door to unlock, and to do so silently. But, try as he might, he could not think of a way to break through the door that would not result in an almighty din that would draw anyone and everyone in the place to them. His magic could not seem to figure it out, either. It could easily break through, but it would be loud. It would crash, and they would be caught before they could get out. They would never reach the City Below in time to warn them, and they would never have a chance of finding a way to separate Uther from the control he had over his army.  

He jumped, backing away when he heard a scuffle on the other side of the metal door. There was what sounded like a fight going on outside. He heard two thumps, and a groan, then something that could have been a shout to raise an alarm which was cut off before it could hardly begin. The sound of a body crumpling to the floor reached him next, and he glanced over to his cellmate, confused. 

Then, there were quiet footsteps that approached their cell and came to a stop outside it.   

“Gwaine?” called a voice in quiet tones. It was a woman’s voice. 

His first hope was that it was Morgana, that she had somehow come to her senses and returned to help them.  

“Gwaine,” Myrddin said, quieter than the barely-there murmurs on the other side of the door. He beckoned him over, holding a finger to his lips to tell him that he would need to be quiet. Who could it be? 

Gwaine made his way over to the door and ran his fingers along the barely-there crack between the metal door and the frame it sat in. There was the same dim, purplish light that spilled through, hardly illuminating anything. He pressed close to this crack, trying to look out, to see beyond it and into the corridor that housed other cells like the one they were in. Perhaps there were sorcerers in the other cells that had not yet been turned to Uther’s cause. If it was not Morgana, then perhaps one of them was attempting to speak to them now, and as Gwaine was a well-known figure, given that he had been the page of the Elders, perhaps they had recognised him and hoped for his support. 

The dim light was suddenly blocked, leaving them in near darkness again, and Gwaine backed away from the door with something of a gasp before he appeared to steel himself and approached the crack again, looking through it once more. 

“What do you want?” Gwaine asked, quiet so as not to draw undue attention to them. 

“It’s Elena,” hissed the voice on the other side of the door, “Hang on.” 

Myrddin listened, frowning his confusion at the expression he could hear in the woman’s voice. It was so different to the monotone that he had begun to get used to as far as the mindless were concerned that it was almost shocking to hear. 

Had Elena, the woman who had escorted them to these cells barely a few minutes ago, managed to break the spell she was under? 

There came the same twisting clunk from the lock as a key was turned in it, and the door was pulled open, swinging on its hinges and letting the dim, purple light do its best at brightening the cell. 

Myrddin brought a hand up to shield his eyes, doing everything he could to see the one setting them free, but what he saw didn’t make sense. Her eyes were still the same, dull gold as all the others. Was this a trap? 

She caught Myrddin looking, then smiled. It was a real, genuine smile. The first proper smile he had seen on the faces of the mindless. 

“Come with me if you want to live,” she said seriously, then laughed, apparently a little bit giddy. “That’s a bit too dramatic, isn’t it?” 

“A little bit,” Gwaine agreed, breathless as he looked at her, scarcely believing that this was happening. 

“But… you’re one of the mindless,” Myrddin finally managed to say. 

“That, I am not,” she said. 

“But your eyes—” 

“I think you’ll find they’re contact lenses,” she said, as though it were obvious. She began to reach for her own eyes with a finger before Gwaine stopped her, grabbing her wrist with a bit of a grin. 

“Don’t need to see that, thanks,” he told her, and the smile on his face was a bit manic, a bit overjoyed, but Myrddin could hardly blame him. One of those he loved had returned to him quite unexpectedly. He had every right to be happy. 

“But why?” Myrddin wanted to know. 

“Percival went missing. I saw him taken. They didn’t want me, but I saw them, and I knew what they were. I didn’t know why, and I knew from Morgana’s attempts that the Elders were happy to bury their heads in the sand since they thought it was all down to the Ancient One and were scared that the blame would fall to them when he used to advise them…” she gave Myrddin a glance then, appreciative, before she turned her explanation back to Gwaine who needed it most in that moment. “So, I borrowed a pair of costume lenses from one of my mortal friends. I know it was stupid, but once I had them, I waited. When they came back to the world Above, I managed to fall in with them, behaved just like them… they didn’t know any better. They don’t know any better. They don’t think, not really. They were easy to fool, and Uther, he’s got so many mindless that he didn’t realise either.” 

“And you’ve been here ever since,” Gwaine said, awed. 

“I had to know what was happening. And I thought I could stop it, but I still don’t know how. Uther doesn’t exactly share his plans with us. Why would he? We can’t tell him anything he doesn’t already know. But, what I do know is that he’s been waiting a long time to catch you, Myrddin, so you won’t threaten his plans, and he’s been waiting for Morgana, too.” 

“Why Morgana?” 

“She’s one of the Marked.” 

“But he has Percival. He’s got Mordred, they’re both Marked,” Gwaine said. 

“I know. But she’s Elder Gorlois’ daughter. If you want to talk to me about dramatic flair, Uther has it in spades. He wants to have her be the one who transports him to the City Below, since he can’t get there without one of the Marked… and he wants Elder Gorlois to watch as he destroys everything dear to him with his daughter at Uther’s side.” 

“I take it back. That’s stupid and dramatic,” said Gwaine, “Uther wins this round.” 

“And I’d tried so hard to be both,” Elena said, as though she were disappointed. 

Myrddin shook his head at them, knowing that Gwaine was still in shock, but there was still danger. There was no time for this, not when Uther was about to launch his attack. 

And beyond her, in the corridor, were bodies. 

He stepped past her and left the cell. He leant down and checked the pulse of one of the mindless, relieved to feel it there, still beating beneath his fingertips. 

“They’re alive,” he told Gwaine. 

He heard Elena scoff behind him. 

“Of course they’re alive,” she said. “I’m not going to kill them. I couldn’t do that any more than you could hurt Percival,” she said to Gwaine whose expression became determined. 

“We have to save them,” he said, his relief at Elena’s safety lessened some. There were others who still needed their help, and the mention of Percival had reminded him of it. 

“So, Uther doesn’t discuss his plans with the mindless,” Myrddin said, “But I’ll bet he’s telling Arthur everything.” 

He ignored the way he felt as though his stomach had dropped out and rolled away somewhere each and every time he thought of Arthur, of how he had betrayed them to Uther’s cause. 

“We need to get to Uther, then.” 

“Lead on,” Myrddin said to Elena, gesturing, then glanced to Gwaine. 

“Whoever we come across, we need to knock them out. That’s it. The two who died in the house will be the last. The mindless can be saved. So, we stay quiet, and we just…” 

“Knock them out?” Elena suggested. 

“Right. And fire won’t work here. I believe Uther on that front. The smoke won’t be able to escape. It’ll just be advertising the fact that we’re not in our cell. We cannot be seen.” 

Elena walked ahead of them, keeping her expression neutral and her steps even, not catching the eyes of the mindless they passed. 

To start with, the mindless seemed to believe, somewhere in the back of their dim minds, that Elena was transporting Uther’s prisoners to another place at his order. It was all working quite well until they came across Percival who had been given a direct order to ensure that the prisoners were still locked away. 

Both Elena and Gwaine hesitated. Gwaine had already proven himself as unable to harm Percival. He simply cared for him too much. And Elena, too, had been pretending for some time now to be one of the mindless so that she could find some way of freeing him. They were both too attached to him. So, Myrddin took care of it. 

Percival was large, but Myrddin was small and quick. Percival was muscled where Myrddin was practically scrawny by comparison with no muscle tone to speak of when he’d been in hospital for so long, but Myrddin had his magic on his side. He let it go, let it bend to its own will in the hopes that it would help. He barely got out of the way in time as Percival made to swing for him. He ducked beneath his arm, and sent Percival crashing, face-first, into the wall opposite. 

Elena checked he was alright, made sure that he was still breathing. 

And while Myrddin felt a little bit exhilarated at just how well his magic was obeying him, over just how natural it had felt to use it in defence of his own life, he had to spare a thought for Gwaine, for Elena. Percival was their friend. 

But they couldn’t delay here. They had to press on. 

“They were in the throne room still when I slipped away,” Elena said in an undertone to them as they walked, quickly now, for there was no guarantee that they would still be there. 

As they approached the throne room, they slowed their pace, their footsteps mere whispers against the ground as they went. 

The door was ajar, and Elena was the one to glance through the gap. Barely a moment had passed by the time she’d backed away from it before she could be seen. It would be stupid to let Uther see her now, even if he did think she was just one of the mindless. 

She nodded to them both, to Myrddin and Gwaine. 

They were in there, the nod said. 

She held a finger to her lips to shush them, to make sure that they stayed silent. As though they would dare speak. It was an effort not to hold his breath, but Myrddin didn’t. He knew he’d only end up gasping for air and would give away their position through it. 

“So, the spell can’t be reversed?” came Arthur’s voice, drifting through to them from the throne room. 

Myrddin looked down at the ground, shaking his head in something like denial. He still couldn’t believe that Arthur had done this to them.  

“Well, I’d not want to reverse it. It’s a piece of genius, really. This amulet works to trap whichever sorcerer whose blood touches it in a cycle of their own magic. The power breaks them and bends them to my will. They do everything I want.” 

“But… it’s made with magic, isn’t it? With the way you feel about sorcerers, about their kind and what they’ve done, well… Why do you wear it?” Arthur wanted to know. 

“If it were to break, so would the spell that binds them. And they would turn on me. Of that, I have no doubt. So, I keep it with me. They’ve not mind enough to take it from me, but if one were to break it by accident…” 

“I understand, father. It doesn’t bear thinking about,” said Arthur. Myrddin knew him well enough now to hear the frown in his voice as he spoke. 

Myrddin bit at his lower lip to stop his ragged breaths from being heard. It hurt, hearing Arthur, knowing that he’d abandoned them. That he was happy to support his father in something that was so inherently evil. Even if Uther’s intentions had begun in the pursuit of good, that time was long gone. Any sense of goodness had vanished the moment he’d decided to wipe out an entire city and an entire civilisation with it.  

He exchanged a glance with Gwaine whose expression was sympathetic, though as far as he was concerned, Arthur had chosen his side. He had shown where his true loyalties lay, and he was not like Gwaine, whose loyalty was to goodness. Gwaine looked to ideals that were for the good of the people rather than the bad. He would never support anyone, no matter who they were, if he thought them to be wrong. Arthur had chosen his father over goodness, and his loyalties did not lie with theirs anymore.  

As far as Gwaine was concerned, Arthur could go hang for what he’d done. 

“Mordred,” came Uther’s voice. There were footsteps that echoed briefly through the now-empty ballroom until they stopped quite suddenly.  

“Yes?” asked Mordred. 

“Are they all in place?” Uther asked. 

“Yes,” came the monotone response. 

“Good. Fetch Morgana for me, then join them yourself. Ensure they are aware that the Elders are to be left alive for now. If anyone else places themselves in the way, kill them.” 

There were no words. Just footsteps as Mordred presumably left to do exactly that. 

“He wasn’t too talkative,” Arthur commented as though this weren’t serious, as though Mordred could help it and had any control over himself to be able to change things like that. As though it were his fault. 

“No. They aren’t unless I require them to be. They pass the orders I give amongst themselves, but otherwise, they don’t communicate.” 

“Why do you need Morgana?” Arthur asked. 

“She will take us to the City Below. The systems of security they have in place are strange… but only sorcerers with that odd little marking on them can transport themselves there. I have enough of those that are marked with it to transport the entire army I’ve amassed. Morgana shall be the one to take us there.” 

“I see.” 

“I’m happy you’ve seen sense, Arthur. When I saw you, off cavorting with the warlock, I was worried that he had turned you against me.” 

“Never, father.” 

The shaking breath that Myrddin took was barely audible, but Gwaine still looked at him sharply. 

Luckily, there came the clicking of heels against the polished wood floors of the throne room, and Myrddin’s upset could no longer be heard over it. 

“You summoned me,” came the now-monotone voice of Morgana. 

“Morgana—” began Arthur, his voice weak. She was still his sister, and backing his father in this did not change the fact that he cared for her, it seemed. “You’ll let her go free once this is over?” 

“Of course,” Uther said. 

He was lying. Myrddin could feel it. His fists clenched. Uther would leave no one alive who knew what he had done and might wish revenge. That much was clear. 

“It is time that we make our attack on the City Below. You shall take Arthur and I there.” 

There was silence, then Myrddin felt air rush into a space that had been filled by three people but a moment ago. 

He didn’t wait before he burst into the throne room to make sure they were gone. 

There was no one there. Then, he felt the air shift again with enough force that his ears popped, and without questioning how he knew it or how he could feel it, he knew without doubt that the army had gone to the City Below. 

“We have to go after them,” said Gwaine, following him into the throne room with Elena at his heels. “You heard them. Destroy the amulet and everyone goes free.” 

“How do we know that’s the only magical artefact he’s using?” Elena asked, “What if there’s another?”  

“I don’t think so. He’s told Arthur everything.” 

“That doesn’t matter. Gwaine, can you get us to the City Below?” 

“No… I have to know where I am before I can go somewhere. We could end up stuck in a wall, stuck underground, anywhere. I don’t know where we are.” 

“We’re below the City,” said Elena. 

“Below Below?” Gwaine asked, coaxing a smile from her. But it didn’t last long. After all, they didn’t have long left. 

“He had this place built, I think, although you obviously can’t ask anyone… He had it built so that he could avoid the Elders, so that he could stop them from knowing where he was, from knowing what he was doing…” 

“Which is why outside is just… well, a big cave?” 

“Right,” said Elena. “Although I shouldn’t think he’ll ever come back here once his plans are complete. I think he had it built like this purely so he could gloat.” 

“How do we get there?” Myrddin interrupted. He didn’t need to hear any more about how terrible Uther and his plans were. He knew it well enough now. 

“I know the path Above,” Elena supplied, holding her hands out to them. “And from there, I can take us to the City Below.” 

“I just hope we’ll be there in time,” Myrddin said, and he placed his hand in hers. 

Gwaine took her other hand, and she smiled to them both in a way she apparently thought was supportive. 

“We’ll get there before it’s too late,” she promised them both, then closed her eyes. 

It was almost comforting to see the white smoke swarming them before they were dragged from the throne room and up to the world Above.


	20. Chapter Nineteen: The Battle

Chapter Nineteen 

The Battle

When they arrived in the world Above, the sunlight blared down at them as though it were attempting to warm them from the dank chill they had experienced in the base that Uther had built in his attempts at avoiding the Elders. 

“Now to the City Below,” Myrddin insisted. He only wished he were able to do it for himself. 

“Right,” said Elena, a little bit breathless, but she took their hands again. She had let go of them the moment they had materialised because Gwaine had looked green and she hadn’t been terribly interested in his being sick on her. 

She looked as though she might fall over at any given moment. Myrddin had never been tired yet as a direct result of using his magic. Rather, it energised him and made him feel more awake and alive than he could remember ever being in his life. It was a wonder to him that others became exhausted if they employed too much. 

He felt his palms go hot with the thought, as hot as they had been on the night he’d healed his wounds with the strange, magical salve, and hotter still. Elena hissed at it, tried to take her hand away, but then she let out a breath and looked over at him, uncertain. 

“Thank you,” she said. 

Myrddin nodded. He’d leant her strength. Not much, and nothing he couldn’t spare when it only made him feel all the stronger for having used his magic, but it would make the difference for her, he thought. He didn’t know how he’d managed it, only that he’d wanted to help her feel as he did, and his magic had acted upon it as though it had always bent to whatever he needed or wished. 

“Below,” she murmured, screwing her eyes shut and grabbing for Gwaine’s hand before he could be left behind. 

They arrived between one breath and the next in a swirl of white smoke. The lights in the City had been fixed, was Myrddin’s first thought. But otherwise, everything was as they had left it. 

Apart from the screams. 

He let go of Elena who seemed to be flagging some, something to be expected with all that she had done to get them here, and looked to Gwaine who swallowed once, getting his travel sickness under control. 

“Smash the amulet, and the attack will stop,” Myrddin said. 

Gwaine nodded. 

“But how can we find it?” Elena asked, and it was a valid question. How could they even hope to find Uther here? 

“Uther said to leave the Elders, didn’t he? To leave them alive? And you said he wanted Morgana… he’ll be in the castle.” 

“That explains the throne room,” Gwaine mumbled under his breath. 

Myrddin gave a nod. 

He didn’t think on the fact that Arthur would be there with Uther. That didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting to the castle. 

“He can’t expect us. We have to get there without him knowing we’re on the way, or he’ll vanish, and we’ll never be able to destroy the amulet.” 

“Shouldn’t be difficult in all this,” Gwaine said, gesturing to the battle that had broken out. 

Luckily, the Elders were not defenceless. They had their guards, strong sorcerers who had been trained in the ways of battle should the City ever need defending, of which they employed many. They were out in their hundreds, trying their utmost to do battle without dealing a single mortal blow to those who had once been their allies. 

The innocents would not be caught up in all this yet, not so long as the guards could hold the worst of the attack at bay. 

But Uther’s instructions had been clear. Slaughter the City. 

They had to be quick. 

Myrddin led the way. He knew it now. It hadn’t taken much for him to learn it, and he moved swiftly, ducking out of the way with Elena and Gwaine when they had need to, even throwing his magic into one of the mindless who had been about to spear a guard on his sword. They were pressing on before she could thank them. They had no time for thanks. 

It was taking too long to reach the castle. 

They had to keep stopping to duck out of sight, and every now and then, Myrddin could hear a gasp from either Gwaine or Elena as they saw sorcerers who had once been friends fighting with one another. But even Myrddin was not entirely fixated on their goal. He scanned the faces he saw, searching for Arthur, for Morgana, even for Mordred, whose face he did not know very well, but he did not see any of them. As far as he could see, Uther had decided that both Mordred and Morgana’s presence would be a suitable enough punishment for the man he considered to have been responsible for the death of his wife. Among the mindless sorcerers, there ambled huge, hulking figures that he knew now to be trolls. He watched as they used their makeshift clubs to smash through windows of shop fronts, of homes, as sorcerers swarmed the premises and dragged anyone they could out of them. Had he possessed any doubt of who had been after him before, he knew the truth now. 

But they couldn’t stay. They couldn’t help. Luckily, guards spotted the attacks and ran to assist them. 

Myrddin looked over the courtyard as they crossed the small bridge leading into it, both surprised and relieved to see it empty. The element of surprise was all they had left now. If Uther got wind of their escape, or of their plans, they would never have another chance at shattering the amulet, or of releasing all those who had been ensnared by it. 

Gwaine let them in through a back door, the same servant’s entrance that they had used to escape the castle when they had believed the Elders to be in some way responsible for the terror they were now experiencing. How wrong they had been. 

There were no guards in the castle. They were all out, fighting the battle that Uther had forced upon the City, and rightly so. The Elders would have no protection, but they had probably thought they did not need it nearly so much as their people did. After all, the mindless had been directed outside. How were they to know that they would come under personal attack? 

All was darkness inside. The sconces which had once glowed, warm and bright, were now snuffed out. The only light to be had was that which streamed in through the windows, the golden glow from the fixed street lamps. 

“The council chambers?” Myrddin asked Gwaine who gave a nod. 

“Where else?” Elena said, walking on ahead, careful, and checking every corner as she went. 

But she needn’t have. 

They made their quiet way by the light of the street lamps to the council chambers uninterrupted. It was only when they came to the council chambers that they ran into anyone at all. 

Stationed at the doors were two of the mindless. They looked straight ahead, expressions blank. Myrddin, Gwaine and Elena stopped short before they could make a sound that might alert them to their presence. Elena’s expression was a grim one. 

“The sooner we can release them from the spell, the better,” she said in an undertone, then straightened her back. Keeping her falsely golden eyes forward, she approached the two at the door as though she were supposed to, walked right up to the door, then turned around to face the front, as they were. They didn’t look at her. But she didn’t seem surprised by that. And why would she be? She knew the mindless better than anyone else. Better than even Uther. She had spent months imitating them, from what she had said. She knew their behaviours as well as her own. So, when her back hit the door and she held out her hands to push at the air as Myrddin had seen Gwaine do countless times, he did his best not to be surprised that the two mindless guards crumpled forwards without a sound but for their bodies hitting the wall opposite. 

They fell, unconscious, and Gwaine curled his palms together. Summoning a flame there, he fed it as Myrddin had seen Morgana do, then held it up so that they could see. 

“Ready?” Myrddin asked as Gwaine approached the double doors, taking one of the ring handles that would open it as Elena took the other. 

“We’ve no chance of defeating an entire army, so we’d best be ready,” said Gwaine, and he was right, really, he was. This was the only chance they had now. Get the amulet away from Uther, and find some way to destroy it. 

“Hang on!” Elena hissed with urgency. She would have lifted her voice, Myrddin knew, but for the fact that they couldn’t afford to lose Uther, not now. She went to the two fallen mindless soldiers and, kneeling down, she unbuckled their sword belts before throwing one in Gwaine’s direction, and the other in Myrddin’s. “This way, when they wake up, they’ll not be able to do any damage. But we will,” she said. 

As Gwaine caught his sword, the fire he’d summoned went out, leaving them in the dark once more. Somehow, Myrddin caught his own, then looked down at it as best as he could with a feeling of foreboding. He didn’t know how to use a sword. How could he? He’d never had cause to in his life. But if his magic failed him, there had to be something he could use, and he supposed that this was it. He buckled it up, ignoring his shaking hands as Gwaine did the same, though with far more confidence, familiarity and ease. 

Gwaine drew his sword with his right hand, then transferred it to his left. With his right hand, he took hold of the door ring once more, nodding to Elena to do the same. 

She took up her position, drawing her own sword with her left hand. She’d been equipped with one herself when Uther had believed her to be one of his army. 

Slowly, they opened the doors. They couldn’t afford to do this quickly, they knew that much, at least. Uther had Morgana with him. And while he had no magic, while he hated its practitioners, he would not hesitate in using those that did have magic to flee should he believe his plans wouldn’t succeed. 

As soon as the heavy doors cracked open, Uther’s voice drifted through to them. 

He was gloating, and Elena tried very hard not to roll her eyes. 

And then, as he stood back from the door, watching as it revealed the council chambers, his free hand clenched into a fist, magic bubbling beneath the surface and ready to strike the moment he needed it, Myrddin saw him. 

He’d almost forgotten. In their desperation to reach Uther and stop him before it was too late, before the City and all the people in it fell, he had forgotten Arthur and his betrayal. 

Arthur was stood at his father’s side, their backs to the doors, watching as Morgana and Mordred both held their swords to the throats of the two Elders left standing. Gorlois and Vivienne. 

How could he stand and watch Morgana as she was forced to kill her own father? How could he let this happen? No matter what Uther said Gorlois had done, how could he let Morgana suffer when she eventually awoke from the cycle she’d been trapped in? Myrddin’s hands clenched briefly into fists. Was this who Arthur had been all along? He didn’t want to believe it, yet the evidence was there. 

“I have waited years for this,” said Uther. Taking a few steps away from his son, he approached the pair of Elders so that they could see him beyond the swords held to their throats. “You will finally pay for what you did to her.”  

“I did nothing,” Gorlois denied, with such vehemence that Myrddin felt he believed him. “I had no idea Ygraine had even died until you broke the news to Morgana.” 

He didn’t look at his daughter, or his son. Myrddin supposed he had seen their eyes and known exactly what had happened to them. He had realised that there was no point in attempting to reason with them in any way. They weren’t capable of empathy, not like this. 

“If we had known you were behind this, we’d have put a stop to it before. We should have acted,” Vivienne said, “We should have looked into it, should have realised it was you and not the Ancient One behind it all—” she was cut off with a gasp as Mordred seemed to press the sword a little bit closer. The look she gave him was torn between relief and horror. Myrddin could understand that well enough. Her son was alive, even if he was lost to her.   

The amulet was about Uther’s neck, beneath his collar. If they could just get close enough, they could get it away from him. 

Something made Arthur turn his head to the door. 

There was surprise on his face when he saw them, and his gaze settled on Myrddin instantly. The moment he saw him, his face shifted slightly, his expression becoming determined.  

“They escaped,” he informed his father in a voice that carried over to Uther who turned around and smiled. 

“Of course they did. How could I expect anything less from the Ancient One? Well, Arthur. Take care of it, will you?” he asked of his son, clearly expecting that Myrddin wouldn’t be able to hurt him. His assumption was so correct that it hurt a little bit. How could he hurt Arthur? 

Elena and Gwaine, knowing that they’d been caught, moved swiftly into the council chambers. Arthur was here of his own free will. He was not like the mindless who would never have been here were it not for a spell. There was nothing trapping him to his father’s side other than the fact that he had been manipulated into believing this was the right thing to do. Elena and Gwaine would show no mercy in the way that Myrddin would. 

But it didn’t seem to matter either way. Elena reached Arthur first, and swung up her sword, intending to catch him with it, or somehow stop him from proceeding, to get to Uther before it was too late. Uther who was confident that his son could deal with three armed sorcerers, and apparently, it was true. Now that Arthur was prepared, he moved confidently and with ease, ducking out of the way of Elena’s swing and knocking her sword arm with enough force that she dropped it with a cry. 

He stooped to retrieve it, then held the sword as though he’d known how to hold one for years. Something pulled at Myrddin, some sense of familiarity, some sense that he so often felt whenever he looked at Arthur, but it was lost to his anger, to his outrage. But even now, he couldn’t hurt him. Even after his betrayal, he could not ignore the time they had spent together, the times when Arthur had seemed to care for him. 

He watched as Gwaine swung at him next, coming in low, and as Arthur’s commandeered sword met it with the singing clash of metal against metal. He chewed at his lip, lost in watching them fight, then shook himself. He didn’t want either one of them to be harmed, but he knew that he could do nothing about that. He placed his sword down, knowing he’d only move clumsily with it, then turned away from them and crept about the edge of the chambers, following the windows and creeping up, hoping to somehow take the amulet from about Uther’s neck. Uther had turned his back to him, and Morgana and Mordred weren’t facing him, but Gorlois and Vivienne were. Their eyes followed him, and that alone alerted Uther to the fact that Arthur hadn’t finished with him yet. 

He heard it when Gwaine’s sword clattered to the ground and turned to look when Arthur used the hilt of his sword to strike Gwaine down. He’d expected Arthur to kill him, he realised then. But instead, he simply lay on the ground, dazed. Elena, too, was sprawled on the flagstones, cradling her wrist that seemed as though it were at an odd angle. Why hadn’t he killed them? Not out of a sense of loyalty. Arthur didn’t have that sense, he knew that now. 

“Step away from my father,” Arthur said, voice low and cold as he levelled his sword in Myrddin’s direction. 

“I won’t let you do this. I will not let him kill thousands of people who have done nothing wrong,” Myrddin said, “I will—” 

“You will nothing,” Arthur said with confidence. “You can’t hurt me,” he told him, and gave a smile that seemed, for a moment, filled with sadness. “Back down,” he told him, and shouldered past Myrddin as though he were nothing. 

And he couldn’t. He couldn’t even pick up his sword again, couldn’t attempt using it, not when Gwaine, who was well practiced in using them had been unable to beat Arthur. It made things worse that Myrddin’s magic was well aware that the very last thing Myrddin wanted to do was to harm Arthur. It didn’t so much as stir to violence when he looked at him. All it wanted was to keep him safe, to protect him. Even now. Even now, he couldn’t hurt him. 

He hung his head as Arthur brushed past him, tears in his eyes. He had come so far only to fall at the final hurdle. Of course Arthur would protect Uther with everything he could. He would never let anyone hurt his father any more than Myrddin could let anyone hurt Arthur, and Uther had known that. He had certainly known that part of human nature well enough to have exploited it perfectly to his own means and ends. And now, innocent people would die because Myrddin was too weak to stop it from happening, too weak to do the right thing. 

He watched silently as Arthur stepped up beside his father who could finally return his attention to Gorlois now that what he considered to be the biggest threat to his plans had proven itself to be harmless. Myrddin could see the smirk on his face, and his fists clenched out of reflex. If he could just get to the amulet, he could stop him. He couldn’t hurt him, he knew that much. Uther was Arthur’s father, and Arthur had shown himself willing enough to do whatever it took to keep the man safe and unharmed. But, if Myrddin could just take the amulet, there might still be a chance that they could stop the battle before there were any more casualties.  

“And now, Gorlois,” Uther said, “You will watch as everything you care for crumbles around you, just as I had to. And, once this wretched place you call a City falls, and all its people are dead, your own daughter will be the one to snuff out your miserable life.” 

“But do you have to be so dramatic about it?” Elena asked from where she was hunched on the floor, still cradling her broken wrist. Just like Gwaine, jokes seemed to be her last port of call in the face of danger. 

Gwaine stirred with a bitter laugh. “I don’t think he can help himself,” he said. 

Myrddin was beginning to doubt whether they would get out of this alive. 

Then, from what had been relative stillness, there came a sudden flurry of movement. 

One moment, Arthur had been standing at his father’s side, watching the proceedings with the sword he’d taken from Gwaine in his hand. The next, he had stepped close to Uther, brought up the sword, grabbed the amulet, and, with some quick, careful manoeuvring of the sword, he had cut the chain holding the amulet from beneath his father’s collar and stepped back quickly out of his reach, leaving Uther unharmed, but astonished and angry. Almost as astonished as Myrddin, Gwaine, Elena and the two Elders were. Myrddin felt a sudden surge of hope rising alongside his confusion. 

Had Arthur been with them all along? Had everything since he’d gone to Uther’s side been an act to find out his intentions and try and stop him from a source he’d not expected? 

“This isn’t the way, father,” Arthur said, holding the amulet in his hand. He held it out of Uther’s reach, keeping his sword arm trained on him. He’d not be able to hurt his father, but that didn’t matter. He was doing the right thing. He had always meant to do this, Myrddin knew that now. He realised that Arthur had beat Elena and Gwaine down, that he had told Myrddin to back down, too, simply because it was something that only he could do. Uther suspected them. He’d not suspected Arthur for a moment. 

Too many things happened at once. Uther’s outraged yell made Mordred and Morgana lower their swords and turn with the intent of stopping Arthur before he could do damage. At the same time, Arthur dropped the amulet to the ground and attempted to shatter it with a single blow of his sword only to be thrown back by the pulse of energy it gave off in defence. 

As Morgana and Mordred rushed Arthur, Uther regained his composure and made for the amulet. The Elders seemed to realise that they were no longer being held at sword point and began to move, but Myrddin’s attention was drawn, in all this confusion, to Gwaine. Gwaine, who shouted his name, calling out to him over the chaos that Arthur’s actions had created. 

He looked over to the page who was taking something from his pocket. Something Myrddin hadn’t known he’d had. He must have picked it up before they’d gone with Mordred. 

Gwaine aimed, then threw the bright, blue power stone to him. “Destroy the amulet!” his voice called, echoing in Myrddin’s ears as he reached for the stone and caught it, then almost fell to his knees, gasping while his fingers clutched desperately at it.  

He remembered everything. Centuries of loneliness came crashing down on him all at once, with a fierce enough intensity that he very nearly staggered under the weight. He remembered watching Arturus die upon receiving a mortal blow that had been dealt to him by Medrod. And now, Arthur was about to suffer the same fate. He remembered waiting and waiting for Arturus’ return only to be disappointed time and time again.  

He remembered deciding to kill himself. And then he remembered the rare act of kindness he had been offered, how it had given him hope. How he had decided that he could carry on waiting so long as people could see him again. He remembered how he had walked on into the city that night, stood outside many a place and created himself a fresh identity with a name similar enough to his own that he would be able to remember himself, should he ever need to. He remembered that it hadn’t been easy, creating files and a history for himself that he could then insert into the different systems of the mortals, but he had managed it. 

He remembered returning home where he had dismantled his staff with its shining, blue stone set at the top, and how he had set it to one side. The staff would perish, he had known that, but the stone didn’t need to. He had retrieved a box, carved simply with the letter ‘M’ from beneath his bed that had creaked louder than his bones, and opened it. From within, he’d taken the only thing that was there; a potion. For he had never been old, not really, no matter how he looked. 

Technically speaking, of course, he had been born in the year 467, and though he had long since lost count, he thought that he had been around for well over 1,500 years now. But he had stopped looking his age a long time ago. When he had turned fifty, some twenty-six years after Arturus’ death, it had become painfully obvious that he had stopped ageing the moment his King had been killed, leaving him with the permanent face and body of a twenty-four year old. So, he had cast a familiar spell on himself, one that made him look ancient, for a man who stayed young forever was a man always under suspicion while a man who appeared to be old forever was simply one that people could ignore with the expectancy that he might die soon. This potion, one that he had learned to make after a few mishaps in his youth, would reverse the years he had placed on himself. He remembered drinking it, and feeling the years lift from his shoulders. He remembered pulling a mirror from the chest of drawers in his bedroom and watching his reflection as the creases in his face melted away to leave a countenance he’d not seen in many centuries gone past. He remembered the feeling of relief as his back had straightened and he’d stood at his full height for the first time in too long. 

The potion drank, he had picked up the journal he had kept all his long life along with the grimoire that he had been given by Caius as a young man, and placed them into the box. It would survive this, should he need its contents, he remembered thinking. Then, he had picked up the shining, blue stone from his staff. He had placed everything he was into the stone, both his memories and the full extent of his power. He could wait for the return of his king without this dreadful pain. Surely, he had punished himself long enough for Arturus’ death that he could have been allowed this. 

He remembered locking it all up and leaving it under the bed, then he had made his way down the stairs whereupon he had turned and set the fire that would afford him the new beginning he had so desperately needed. He’d wiped his own memory then, and burst out of the house, disoriented, as it had all burned behind him. 

He remembered his real name; Merlin Wyllt. 

Gasping, he dropped the stone, watching it as it bounced away. It didn’t matter where it went. Its job was done for now. 

Mordred had wrestled Arthur’s sword from him and held it to his throat while Arthur had been lying, winded, on the stone floor, dazed by the pulse of energy the amulet had given off. There seemed to be a choice to make. Time slowed as Myrddin watched in the full knowledge of what he was and what he could do. Uther was almost upon the amulet, and Mordred, left to his own devices, would kill Arthur while Uther used Morgana to escape. He could save the City, or save Arthur. He could not lose Arthur, not again. But nor could he let the thousands of innocents who lived in the City Below die. He couldn’t let Uther get away with the amulet. 

He didn’t fear for his own life. Time and recovery from countless almost-deaths had told him a very long time ago that he was an immortal. He had always thought it down to the magic that had been gifted to him by the earth itself. He let it aid him now, with time slowed to less than a crawl, knowing that he was not all powerful, but that he could succeed in this. It was all about timing. He focused on the amulet first, sent it skidding away and over to Gwaine who had a chance of keeping it from Uther. Then, his sights returned to Arthur who lay looking up at Mordred, his hands up in surrender. The sword had begun to come down in the time Myrddin had taken to send the amulet out of harm’s way. He was too late.  

He realised it with a sickening certainty that he had been right, that it had been a choice between the two all along, and that he had failed again. He would lose Arthur just as he had lost Arturus. 

“Arthur,” he breathed, as time sped up to what it had been before Myrddin had interfered. He had been given a chance and he had wasted it. 

As Gwaine picked up the amulet and scrambled to his feet to keep it away from Uther, Arthur did the impossible and kicked out, knocking Mordred off balance for long enough that Arthur could roll out from under him, the sword striking the ground just beside where his head had been, sparks flying from the blade.   
“I can’t break it!” Gwaine shouted to them, to Elena, to Myrddin, even to Arthur who had scrambled to his feet and grabbed the sword that Elena threw him with her good hand so that he could defend himself. 

Myrddin could. It was such a small thing. All he’d have to do was to break the cycle. 

He was thrown off his feet before he could reach Gwaine to help him, to stop the attack on the City now that Arthur was safe. He wasn’t sure what had knocked him down until he realised that Uther was on him, holding him down and commanding Morgana to retrieve the amulet, and for Mordred to leave Arthur. The amulet was the most important thing to him. He didn’t even seem to care about his son’s betrayal.  

Myrddin was not strong. He knew now that he had never had much strength, but he had magic. He would always have his magic. He used it now to send Uther sprawling back, then rolled over and pushed himself to his feet, calling to Gwaine who threw him the amulet without a moment’s hesitation even as Morgana tried to get to him through Elena who was struggling under the obvious pain in her wrist. 

Myrddin caught the amulet. There was no sudden rush of memory as he held it, not this time. He felt sick with the dank, dark magic that spilled from it, and angry that something like this had ever been created. Elena’s cry of pain as Morgana struck her wrist faded, as did the clash of swords as Mordred ignored his master’s command to let Arthur be. There was one terrible moment when Mordred struck out, dealing what would have been a fatal blow, but for the sorcerers’ armour that Arthur still wore. It glanced off, and Myrddin let out his breath before he closed his eyes. He couldn’t give any mind to what was going on around him. This was too delicate. Doing this incorrectly could shatter the minds of the sorcerers under Uther’s control. He tightened his grip on the amulet, brought his other hand up to clasp onto it tightly and felt it digging into his palms. He concentrated on that, and the sounds around him, the screams of the battle outside, the cacophony of the battle within the council chambers, all faded to a dull hum. 

He reached into the emerald that was the heart of the amulet, and felt the tightly wound spirals of countless sorcerers’ magic within, each bound to the centre of Uther’s control. He let his magic delve into the centre, let it snip each and every tie within with sharp edges until there were none left. The ties severed, he crushed the emerald to dust, leaving the gold that had cradled it empty. It would never be used again. 

He let it drop to the ground and opened his eyes, expecting to see both Mordred and Morgana released from Uther’s power. 

Outside the castle, there was silence. Then, there came a roar as the sorcerers who had been released from the spell realised what they had done, realised that there was a battle and changed sides, fighting against the trolls who had been on their side mere moments ago. They were free. The mindless were no more. 

He looked to Mordred, to Morgana, and cried out in despair. Their eyes were still dull and gold. 

“How?” he began to ask, only to be interrupted by Uther’s laughter. 

“I bound them to a different stone,” he said, using Morgana’s hand to pull himself up. She had left Elena lying on the ground with tears in her eyes, and joined the man she now called master. “It was an insurance policy, really, nothing more. I see now that I was right to do so.” 

Mordred had backed Arthur against the wall, and Arthur had his sword crushed against Mordred’s in an attempt at blocking him, his arm trembling with the strength it was taking to stop him. 

Uther barked out Mordred’s name and the sorcerer dropped the sword, backed away and went to join Uther. 

What stone had he used to bind them? 

“I will stop you,” Myrddin told Uther who gave him a thin smile. “You know who I am. And you know that I speak the truth.” 

“And I am sure that you think so,” Uther said, offering his arm to Morgana who took it as though she hadn’t been fighting a few moments ago. “But this isn’t over. It will never be over until he has paid for what he did to Ygraine.” 

The air rushed in to fill the space Uther and Morgana had occupied, and a moment later, Mordred followed them, leaving acrid, purple smoke in their place. 

“I bet he regrets all that drama now,” Elena mumbled through her tears, wiping at her eyes with her good hand.  

Myrddin looked around the council chambers, trying to catch his breath. They had won. But they had lost. He didn’t know how many people had died outside. And while they had stopped Uther, he had still escaped with Mordred and Morgana who were now lost to them. 

Gwaine had gone to help Elena, and Arthur stood with his hand at his neck. He was bleeding, but not badly. It was more of a nick than anything. The Elders that had been knocked unconscious began to stir, though two of the five on the floor did not get up. Elder Gorlois and Vivienne looked on, distressed and outraged that this had happened at all. 

“What did you mean, you are what he said?” Arthur asked him, his voice rasping as he tried to breathe through what could only have been a mix of fear and excursion. 

Myrddin looked to the Elders who had plagued him with countless petitions for help and assistance ever since they had first come to this office of power. He had held them by the hand and guided them through the years, and they had repaid him by turning to him for help with absolutely everything. They had been one of the reasons he had done all this. Their using of him as though he were some commodity had been too much. No. He was not going to give up the value his actions had given him as a person rather than as a thing. Not now. 

“I’ll explain later,” he said to Arthur who seemed to accept that. 

So, he used the power he had displayed to speak to them. Clearly, no matter how little they knew of him, he was powerful. More so than they were. They would respect power. 

“You will need Alice and Gaius Laece,” he told them in no uncertain terms. “One of you must fetch them both. Explain that I sent you, that you have need of their talents as healers. There will be many outside who are wounded. The majority of the mindless army will have regained control over themselves now.” It was so easy, telling them what to do. Easier still now that they were listening to him as they had always done before. “Any guards you can spare will need to go to the place where this attack was organised. Elena knows of the location and can take you there,” he said, gesturing to her. “See whether or not you can find another stone like the amulet we destroyed. Once that is done, the dead will be accounted for. And when that has been done, you will learn that, had you listened to your daughter, Elder Gorlois, she would not be lost now. I am sorry for your losses, for Elders Nascien and Vortigern. I know you need to grieve. I know that the City will need to grieve the losses of this battle. But you must move on. Recruit new Elders. My first suggestion is that Gwaine take a seat on the council of Elders. His loyalty is well placed, and he did the right thing when all this came to light. He did not follow blindly where you led, and if he had, you might all be dead now. You need someone like him.” 

All eyes in the room were on him, bar those of the two Elders who had been killed. He knew that they were watching him in some confusion, but he had shown his power, and the Elders responded to that, as they had always done when he had looked old. 

Elder Gorlois shook himself and agreed, leaving the council chambers to act on what Myrddin had told him to do.


	21. Chapter Twenty: The Truth

Chapter Twenty 

The Truth 

There were to be many funerals that day. The Elders sent for Alice and Gaius who arrived in the City Below, ready to heal those that needed it, and declare those who had been more unfortunate as dead. Of Uther’s army, many were still living. Each and every one of them remembered the time they had spent under his control, and every one of them were angry and sorry for what they had been to do while in his thrall. Of the innocents who had been caught in the attack, twelve had died, and while there had been no children among the dead, there were two who had been left orphaned by the battle. The number of the dead guards who had defended the City was significantly less than those who had never wished to be involved in the fight in the first place, though many of their number had been injured.

Their victory, such as it was, felt a hollow one.

When her part in healing the injured was through, Alice took them to her family home. Myrddin had walked this way before, he remembered, a long time ago when he had been speaking with one of Alice’s ancestors who had been an Elder at the time, though they were long gone now. It was Myrddin who had continued to live, carrying on with his endless life as he always had done, watching as those around him perished with the passage of time. Was it really any wonder that he had wanted to forget?

They were calm, tranquil patches of green, the hills in the City Below, maintained by a magic that simulated sunlight. There were flowers, dotted about here and there, and Myrddin remembered, as he walked past them, that he had been the one to set the spells that allowed for rain within the City, and on its outskirts, for how else were they to grow crops? It was the only way to sustain life safely, he’d decided at the time. He shook his head slightly to keep from dwelling on the memories. He needed to take time getting everything into order now that it had all come back, and while he knew this almost constant barrage of memory was bound to happen for some time, he had to ignore it as best he could until he could concentrate on himself.

He needed to think forward, to find a way to ensure that nothing like this ever happened again. He’d thought that the Elders were well equipped enough by now to take matters into their own hands, but they had failed. Their failure, and Myrddin’s, had cost people their lives, and needlessly so. He would not let this happen again.

But, equally, he didn’t think he could go back to what had been before. For one thing, there was Arthur to think about. Arthur, a mere mortal who had stood in the name of what he thought was right against his own father to save sorcerers who, really, were nothing to do with him. He’d have been a fool to ignore the signs. King Arturus had returned. That familiarity that Myrddin had sensed, even without his memory, was down to the way Arthur’s mannerisms mimicked Arturus’ almost exactly. He even looked the same. But Arthur was not about to have a sudden rush of memory as Myrddin had done. He would never remember because he was a different person who had led a different life up until now, and Myrddin would have to treat him as such. He’d have to treat him as he had always done so far, though that, he thought, would be no hardship.

But here he was, born again, to aid, serve and lead the people through the difficult time ahead, and Myrddin would not fail this time. He would be there at Arthur’s side as they ushered in a new age, the age they had always meant to bring about before, when he had been Arturus.

He ignored the foreboding feeling that told him that, if Arthur was indeed Arturus, it meant that the world had great need of him, that there was no other reason he should have come back now. Whatever was coming, the world needed sorcerers and mortals to work side by side. Their battle was not over, and there were yet more dangers ahead. Uther had not been working alone, that much was clear. He may have had an army of sorcerers at his disposal, but the question as to how he had come by the dark magic of the amulet in the first place was one that still needed to be answered.

And Myrddin could not stand by Arthur’s side as the ancient warlock who had to check up on the Elders every few minutes to see that they’d not allowed another catastrophe to slip by unchecked. He had to be himself. But he couldn’t lie to Arthur either. They would need to talk.

Once Gaius had set her wrist as well as he was able with the supplies available to him, Elena had taken Elder Vivienne and as many uninjured castle guards as they could spare to Uther’s base of operations. They were yet to hear back from them, though he didn’t expect that the news would be good.

Of course, Gwaine, Arthur and Myrddin were not without their own injuries, and they, too, required medical attention. However, they could still walk, so Alice wasted no time in ushering them away to her family’s home. She instructed the remaining healers before they left on how best to help those who were still alive. Those who were not, she had said, were to be taken away so that they could be made ready for their families to bid them farewell.

Selfishly, all Myrddin could think of was that Arthur had not died as Arturus had. He hadn’t lost him, not this time.

“It is so strange to be back here after so long,” Alice said as she pressed her palm to the door frame of the house they had stopped before. In all its grandeur, this house really was quite at odds with the little cottage that she and Gaius shared in the world Above. 

As they watched, the house seemed to recognise her, and the door swung open mere moments later, admitting them inside.

“My cousin lives here now with her family,” she said, waving them all in and shutting the door behind them. “But I am sure that she will not mind our being here. After all, we do keep in contact whenever we can.”

She took them into a kitchen that was at least three times the size of the one she pottered about in at the cottage, then sat them down and tended to their injuries, such as they were.

“They will hold the funerals today,” she said as she washed her hands, then smoothed a healing salve over the welts at Myrddin’s wrists. “And, as you were instrumental in the outcome of this, as you are all responsible for stopping the battle before more could die, you are expected to be there. I expect that you will be thanked for your services, and you will be able to pay your respects to those we have lost.”

Myrddin watched her as she tended to the gash at Arthur’s neck, then as she placed the salve down and instead picked up a porous stone. She crushed it between her palms, then mixed it with a dab of water and smudged the mixture over the worst of the bruises that Gwaine was utterly covered with. 

Arthur was staring off into space, lost in his thoughts, and for now, Myrddin let him be. They did need to talk, but not now. Not yet. Arthur had lost both father and sister today. They may not have died, but they were on the wrong side in whatever it was that was bound to come.

“Where is she?” Gwaine finally asked Alice as he waited for his bruises to slowly fade.

“I believe that she’s out looking for Percival,” said Alice carefully.

Gwaine shook his head and looked down at his hands, clasped together on the table cloth. His knuckles were white with the force of his grip.

“I was the one who told her that I’d not seen him in weeks,” he murmured. “She asked the Elders to find him, and they said that they’d look into it, but they didn’t. All this pain, all the dead, if I’d only—”

“It was not your fault,” Alice said, firm. “The Elders should have investigated this matter, whether they believed the perpetrator to be the Ancient One or not. They failed us through their own fear. You are not to blame for it.”

“They may ask that you join the council,” Myrddin said then, to Alice, who looked up and smiled kindly.

“I’d not accept that opportunity as you well know. My place is Above with Gaius.”

“I know, but be prepared,” he advised.

She looked at him for a moment, her gaze searching his face until she appeared to decide something. Turning, she handed Gwaine a cloth with which to wipe off the mixture that had healed his bruises, then made them all stand up.

“Speaking of preparations,” she said as she walked them out of the kitchen and up the stairs, “You cannot attend the funerals looking as though you’ve each been dragged through multiple gardens backwards. You absolutely cannot be there in battle dress. It would be disrespectful to the dead. Gwaine, take Arthur and find suitable mourning clothes for the pair of you, will you? Try Percival’s old bedroom, if you can. Some of his things might fit.”

“I feel like a vagrant,” Gwaine complained as they reached the landing. It was the first time Myrddin had heard him complain. “Borrowing clothes…” he shook his head and took Arthur off to Percival’s bedroom without needing to ask where it was.

Myrddin didn’t have time to wonder at that, though.

Alice was addressing him again, now that they were alone.

“As for you,” she said in an undertone as the door to Percival’s bedroom shut and the sound of Arthur and Gwaine getting along, or at least, not fighting, filled the air. “I do not care if you are thousands of years old, Myrddin. You look a mess.”

Myrddin let out a breath that could have been a gasp and looked at Alice. Of course, she knew. She was not stupid, for one thing, and a healer like her would always have a touch of the seer’s power about her.

“Yes, I know,” she said, holding up a hand to stop him before he could interrupt her. “You are the Ancient One. How else could you suddenly have developed a deep understanding of the inner workings of the council? But don’t worry. I don’t care much, nor will I tell anyone else. You’ve only just remembered yourself, I think. I do not blame you for your actions, though it was poor timing on your part to vanish when you did, hm?”

“I’d expected them to learn that they could function without my holding their hands every step of the way,” Myrddin said, speaking frankly on the subject for the first time in his life. “I was sick of being nothing more than the one who took care of them. And now that I remember who I am, there are more pressing matters at hand. Something will happen, and soon. Arthur will need to be ready, and I will be at his side to help him.” He had sworn always to serve his king, and that did not change now, no matter what had happened between them in the time he’d spent without his memory.

“That may well be, but you’ll not be at his side looking like that,” Alice said, and led him into the bathroom where she sat him down in a delicate-looking arm chair, then bustled about, looking through the cupboards beneath the sink for something. Eventually, she produced a straight razor, a cake of what seemed to be shaving soap, and a brush with which to apply it. “These belonged to my grandfather, you know,” she told him as she pushed him gently back on his chair.

“I remember him,” Myrddin said, his voice a low hum as he looked up at the ceiling when she tilted his head back. She wet the cake of soap, swirled the brush in it, then applied the resulting foam to Myrddin’s neck, jaw, and the lower part of his face. He trusted her implicitly, and his trust was well placed, he knew from the very first, dull scrape of the razor against his skin. She paused after the first swipe to get a towel to wipe the razor on as she went, then got back to it.

“It’s about time this happened,” Alice said. She wasn’t interested in hearing about his life, wasn’t interested in what assistance or information she could garner from him. She was simply interested in his wellbeing, in making sure that he was happy and, for some reason, that he looked his best. Doubtless, she would sort Arthur and Gwaine out similarly, if she was allowed. Myrddin expected that Arthur would accept her offer once he had gathered his wits, but he didn’t think Gwaine would agree to a shave. He seemed to be the kind of person who wore a beard on a permanent basis, rather than the kind of person who wore one by accident as Myrddin and Arthur were.

“Thank you,” Myrddin said, as much for what she was doing now as for all that she had ever done for him.

“What for?” she asked, as though unaware of just how much her kindness meant to him.

“For agreeing to take me in when I needed it most, for looking after me, and for accepting it when I was bound to plunge stupidly into danger headfirst.”

“There!” she declared suddenly. Using the clean part of the towel to wipe off the excess foam, she took a step back to inspect her handiwork. 

“Alright?” he asked, somewhat hesitantly, but her smile reassured him.

“Take a look for yourself,” she implored him, stepping away so that he could get to his feet and approach the mirror.

As Myrddin looked at himself in the mirror, clean shaven and tired but ultimately happy in spite of the weight of responsibility he carried, he recognised in his reflection the man he had been centuries ago. It had been a long time gone since he had last seen himself as who he truly was. He could hardly blame the Elders for overlooking him now, not when he realised that he had done the same to himself for many years.

Without the beard, he was almost handsome, in a way. His features beneath it were delicate, and he could almost see why Alice had been so insistent about it.

“Thank you,” he said again, and squeezed her hand gently.

“I’m simply happy to see you looking a little bit more human than you have been lately,” Alice said with a smile.

She let him go out of the bathroom then, and of course, he almost immediately walked into Gwaine who had emerged from Percival’s bedroom wearing deep red clothes that were a little bit too big for him, though that was easily ignored. He had even taken care to bare the mark on his chest as a sign of solidarity to the fallen sorcerers. At least, that was what he told Myrddin once he’d finished blinking at his beardless face.

Arthur emerged from the bedroom, too, wearing another set of the red mourning clothes. They were made of the same false dragon hide as the armour they had been wearing before. Myrddin had to check himself for a moment when he realised he was staring. Truly, Arthur was breathtaking. The red only helped offset the gold in his hair.

It was all Myrddin could do to push away the memory of Arturus wearing that same colour. It had been his family arms. Though not many sorcerers realised it, King Arturus and his family were the reason they wore red at funerals. It was in his memory. Myrddin pushed the sadness away before it could assault him again.

Half-heartedly, Arthur told Gwaine that a funeral was perhaps not the best place to be showing off his body. At least things were not so bad that Arthur didn’t have at least a few choice words for Gwaine.

And then, Arthur set eyes on Myrddin and faltered, coming to a stop just outside the door.

“You shaved—” the blond began, though he cut himself off with a shake of his head and a frown, as though he’d said something silly.

“Myrddin, I believe you will find mourning clothes to fit you in Lionel’s bedroom. He’s bound to have a few sets, and he’ll not need them all. Somehow, I don’t think you will manage with Percival’s clothes. You’d be swamped by them, and that won’t do anyone any good at all,” Alice called out to him, interrupting Arthur before he could say anything else.

Myrddin looked to Gwaine for directions, and he pointed to the door in question, then turned and made his way down the stairs. He wondered briefly at how Gwaine could know this place so well, then decided not to. It was not his place to know everything. He didn’t want it to be, in any case.

He went through the door he’d been pointed to and found himself in the empty bedroom of a sorcerer who had only recently come of age. Lionel, it seemed, was Percival’s younger brother. The only reason Percival had been caught by Uther in the first place, as far as Myrddin could see, was because he had gone to the world Above. His parents had probably thanked the stars themselves that this Lionel was not old enough to have gone, too.

But that sort of fear of the world Above and the mortals would not do any longer.

He wondered briefly, inanely, if he ought have been offended over the insinuation that he was about the same size as a pubescent boy, but chose instead to ignore it. He’d had a long, long time to become comfortable with his own body. He’d never needed to be strong, anyway, so it hardly mattered.

He found the only remaining set of mourning clothes hanging in the wardrobe, and had begun changing into what appeared to be a perfect fit when he heard movement behind him.

Glancing over his shoulder, still somewhat on edge with all that had happened, he relaxed almost immediately upon seeing that it was Arthur. And then he remembered the words he would have to speak to him now, the truths he would have to tell, and tensed again, almost imperceptibly.

Arthur, however, seemed as though he had something to say for himself, and didn’t appear to notice the tense set of Myrddin’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said to him, both sounding and looking forlorn.

That was all it took for Myrddin to abandon the fastenings of the red jacket in favour of crossing the distance between them and wrapping his arms about the blond. He’d thought only a short while ago that Arthur had betrayed them. He had thought that he’d lost him for good, and while he knew better now that he could remember the goodness at the heart of the man who had been his king, he still felt relief that he was still here. He could still feel the sharp pain that had caught him in the throat when he’d thought that Arthur was on Uther’s side.

“I understand why you had to do it. It was the only way of getting close to the amulet without anyone getting hurt. I know that. But… I wish you’d said something,” he found himself saying without quite meaning to. It all seemed to spill out around Arthur, whether he wanted it to or not. “I thought you’d abandoned us.”

“I couldn’t if I tried,” Arthur mumbled, seemingly uncertain of himself, perhaps amazed that he had been forgiven, though really, he had done the only thing he could have. Without Arthur’s actions, they might never have destroyed the amulet. “But I couldn’t tell you. Father would have known something was wrong. He’d not have believed me if you weren’t all utterly convinced that I’d left you. He’d have told me nothing.”

Myrddin felt his chest swell with something like pride and affection to look at him. Pride that he had done so much, that he had done the right thing, and affection with how uncertain he seemed of himself. He kissed him then, in full knowledge of who he was, of what all this meant, and closed his eyes when Arthur returned his kiss with a gentle movement of his lips, and after a moment, perhaps longer, they broke apart, and let their foreheads rest together, simply breathing.

“We’ll find Morgana,” Myrddin said. He’d not promise it because he couldn’t be sure they would, couldn’t be sure that they’d be able to set her free if they did find her, but he knew that they would search for her until there was nowhere left to look. Of that, he could be certain.

“I just can’t believe that father could have done this,” Arthur murmured, looking down, then closing his eyes. Myrddin brought up a hand to cup his cheek gently, butting his nose softly against Arthur’s in what he hoped Arthur would see as supportive. “And all the sorcerers out there, they’re burying their dead because of my father, I— they’ll think I’m just the same, they’ll—”

“They won’t,” Myrddin said. “They will judge you on your own merits, and you are the one who gained his trust only to ruin his plans. Without you, we’d not have destroyed the amulet. Elder Gorlois and Elder Vivienne watched it all happen. The people will know what you’ve done. They will know that you are not your father.”

It was then that Arthur let go of Myrddin and took a step away from him, looking at him as though he’d said something strange.

Myrddin remembered the conversation he’d had with Alice in which she had mentioned that, for someone who’d apparently never been involved with the City Below, he now knew far too much about the place.

“What happened when Gwaine threw you that stone?” Arthur asked then, now that he was out of his arms. Myrddin could feel a familiar, sinking feeling as panic began to bubble up inside. Arthur had noticed a change in his behaviour, then, but of course he had. He had spent more time with Myrddin since the fire than anyone else. He had been closer to him than anyone had been in centuries. And probably, once he learned just who Myrddin was, this would be the last time they were this close.

“When he threw me the stone—” Myrddin repeated, almost hoping that he could turn it around somehow, that he could act as though he didn’t know what Arthur was talking about even though he had hoped to tell him about it. Really, he had just hoped that he’d be able to bring it up first. Now it felt as though he’d been wilfully lying to him when that wasn’t the case at all. “Do you mean the amulet?” he asked, knowing that he was making things worse and unable to help himself. It felt unavoidable.

“No, I mean the blue one,” Arthur said, gesturing as he tried to grasp for the right words. “The power stone.”

“Oh,” said Myrddin.

And in that moment, the great Ancient One, creator of the City Below, advisor to the Elders, and the warlock of legends, felt very, very small.

He felt like Myrddin.

He wondered if he’d ever be able to feel any different when it came to Arthur.

“I remembered,” he finally said, quiet.

“You remembered?” Arthur asked, voice blank in a direct imitation of the mindless ones for an awful moment as he tried to understand what he was being told. When he did, his face broke into a grin, and his happiness over Myrddin’s achievement was almost overwhelming. But he didn’t understand. Not really. Not yet. “Your memory came back!”

It almost hurt when he had to hold up a hand to stop Arthur from embracing him, because he knew full well that, once he knew the truth, he’d want nothing to do with him. They’d not be able to avoid an association with what was coming, but he knew this would be it for them as they had been.

Arthur faltered and stopped, looking at Myrddin with concern in his face.

“Why… why aren’t you happy about this?” he asked, and it was a good question, but that didn’t mean that Myrddin wanted to answer it.

He prolonged the inevitable by going over to the four poster bed and sitting on the edge. He watched as Arthur did the same and sat beside him. It was good, in a way, because he’d probably want to be sitting down for this, but bad in that Myrddin knew he’d scramble away the moment he learned the truth. And Myrddin would understand it just as he had understood how he had been ignored for centuries. He wouldn’t like it, of course not. But he would understand.

“What’s wrong?” Arthur asked, and in spite of what he had been through, here he was, filled with concern for Myrddin. It was touching and beautiful and tragic, given the way he was bound to think of Myrddin when this was over. Even though he hadn’t wilfully deceived him, even though he’d been no wiser than Arthur as to who he really was, he still felt as terrible now as though he had done it all on purpose.

How did you explain to the man you’d kissed more than your fair share of times that you weren’t the twenty-four year old you looked like, that he’d be closer to his real age if they added two noughts after that number and divided it by two?

He looked away from Arthur because seeing the trust in his face was too much to bear. Yet again, Arthur will have been deceived. He was bound to see this as yet another betrayal, whether it had been intended that way or not.

Myrddin laughed, but it was a hollow one. He looked up at the ceiling because it was easier than looking at the blond, easier by far than seeing the confusion that would be on his face and the hurt that would follow.

“I remember my entire life,” he said, quietly.

“But that’s fantastic news, wait until Gaius—”

“He’ll find out. But… what I’m about to tell you cannot go any further than here. Alice knows because she worked it out, but I do not want the Elders to know.”

“Worked what out? I don’t— did you do something wrong?” Arthur asked, and Myrddin laughed again.

“No, nothing wrong. I don’t… you’re going to think I’m mad, Arthur.”

He was surprised when Arthur reached over and cupped Myrddin’s cheeks in his hands, forcing him to look at him.

“If you don’t stop being a cryptic arse, I’m going to have to punch you. Or kiss you. I’ve not decided yet,” he said.

Myrddin smiled out of reflex because Arthur was sweet, because he was so trusting even after all that had happened.

“You won’t want to,” Myrddin said.

“Of course I want to,” Arthur said, as though he were being absurd. “I’ll always want to. Can you just tell me what’s wrong?”

“I don’t—”

“Myrddin,” the blonde sighed, exasperated.

“—I’m one and a half thousand years old,” Myrddin said, all in a rush. If he didn’t tell him now, he never would.

He watched in defeat as Arthur’s hands dropped from his face and he just looked at him in stunned silence.

“You’re joking,” he said.

“No,” replied Myrddin, miserable.

“You’re 1,500 years old, and you didn’t think you should mention it?”

“I didn’t know,” he said, but Arthur interrupted him.

“You didn’t think I’d want to know that my boyfriend is older than the bloody hills?”

“I didn’t—”

“You lied to me—” 

“I had no idea when I met you!” Myrddin protested, loudly enough that Arthur stopped his ranting and looked at him. He became quiet then, and looked away. “I didn’t know. I took my own memories and I placed them in that stone. Then I wiped them. Your father was right. I would have been in his way because I was always digging the people of this City out of their messes, and I was just— I was sick of it. I wanted to be free of it. And this time I’ve spent as Myrddin has been so happy, that I don’t want to go back to it. I don’t want the Elders to know who I really am. I’m telling you because you deserve the truth, and I trust you. And you have to know, Arthur, because there’s danger coming.”

“But you can’t be that old, you don’t look—”

“A day over twenty-four? I know. I stopped ageing when Arturus died, so I applied a glamour that would make me appear old. It was the only way to be overlooked. How else do you explain that you’ve been alive forever, that you’re immortal and don’t know why?”

“Arturus? That's— isn’t that someone from that story?”

“It’s not a story. I didn’t know when I asked about it, but now that I remember… it was all real. The journal in that box was real. It’s mine. You can read it all if it will help you. Morgana was right about what the legends say, that Arturus will return when there is need for him, when the need becomes so great that mortals and mages will need to unite as one. That time’s coming, Arthur. I think— I think it’s why I’m still around. You— you’re just like Arturus—”

Arthur stopped him with a shove.

“You were with me because I look like your dead boyfriend?” he demanded.

“I was with you because I wanted to be! As Myrddin, I didn’t… I didn’t know about Arturus. I didn’t know about who I was. I knew nothing. It’s got nothing to do with him.”

Somehow, that made Arthur deflate a little bit, the anger, confusion and outrage seeping slowly out of him.

“Is this… is this normal for sorcerers?” he asked, “Will… when we get Morgana back, will she outlive me? Keep going and going and going for thousands of years, long after I’m dead?”

“No,” Myrddin said, shaking his head. “It’s not normal. But I’m… I’m not normal, I suppose. There were prophecies about me, from before I was born. They said I would be the one to usher in a new age, with Arturus’ help, but he was killed before that could happen. I think… well, I believe that my magic… froze me. It’s kept me as old as I was. I’ve not become any older in spite of the years that have passed.”

“So… you are twenty-four,” Arthur summarised, with enough conviction that Myrddin smiled a bit.

“I won’t suddenly turn back into the Ancient One without a spell, don’t worry,” he said. “But that’s about right, really. I’ve been alive for one and a half thousand years, yes, but I’m still the same. And I’m still me, I’m still Myrddin. I know that…” he took a breath and looked away again. “I know that you really won’t want anything to do with me now that you know this, but I can’t just let you walk away. This isn’t over. We might be, but… the plight of mortals and sorcerers alike is only beginning, and if you are who I think you are, you’ll need to be ready. I will need to stay by you, to protect you from what’s coming.”

“I’m sorry, Myrddin, but when did I say we were breaking up?”

Myrddin blinked.

“But you—”

He was silenced when Arthur grabbed him by Lionel’s shirt and kissed him soundly, for long enough that when they parted, all Myrddin could do for long moments was try and recall how to breathe. Anyone would think he’d have figured it out by now.

“You don’t mind?” he finally asked, trying to ignore how Arthur rolled his eyes.

“It’s a bit weird, but… you’re still the same man. You just know a bit more about all this than I do. And I don’t think you’ve changed. Not really.”

Myrddin didn’t kiss him because he wasn’t sure he was allowed, however much he wanted to.

Arthur solved that little dilemma by pulling him close and pressing their lips together softly.

“And as for the rest of it,” said the blond when they finally parted, their mouths barely a hair’s breadth away, “As for Arturus and… and whatever it is that you think I can do to stop whatever it is that’s coming, we can talk about it later. And I know that you don’t want many people to know about it… about you… but we’re going to need help. We can’t do this alone.”

“The Elders can’t know.”

“No, I know. I’m not about to let them just take you from me and fix everything for them every five minutes. I need you more.”

This time, Myrddin’s laugh was genuine and filled with relief.


	22. Chapter Twenty-One: The Funeral

Chapter Twenty-One 

The Funeral

The funerals were to be held in the courtyard of the castle. As Myrddin, Arthur, Gwaine and Alice made their way there, they were joined by the masses of the City Below. Each and every one of them were dressed in the mourning clothes of their people. Myrddin felt awash in the sea of red, and it felt right, somehow. It felt right to see Arturus’ colours now that he had told Arthur everything, now that he could remember everything. There was something coming from out of the dark, of that much, he was now certain. With something on its way, it would take both Arthur and Myrddin to be able to defend those who could not defend themselves, and those that could. Seeing Arturus’ colours now gave him hope. Hope that, whatever was coming, they would be able to face it together. 

But he could not forget the circumstances that had brought these colours to light on this sad evening. 

The street lamps glowed dimly in the streets, a simulation of night time as the people walked their path in silence, for the most part. They didn’t know what had happened. To them, it was a massacre that no one could have done a thing about. Their own had gone missing and had returned under the control of a madman only to attempt to kill their loved ones. As far as they knew, the Elders had done everything they could and had come up empty handed. They had been saved by an intervention from Gwaine, the Elders’ page who had acted of his own volition and, with the help of Elena, a mortal and a sorcerer not of the City, had triumphed against the dark and released the mindless of the spell they were under. Had they known the truth of the matter, had they known that the Elders had ignored things, that their negligence had allowed this to happen, that, had they simply looked, they might have been able to stop this before people could die, though it was unlikely, given how Uther had hidden himself, there would have been riots in the streets. 

Instead, this was a time of mourning. It was a tragedy and it was time to grieve for those who were now gone. This was not a time to question the story the masses had been given. 

The scene as they stepped into the castle courtyard was breathtaking and deeply moving. The sense of support and camaraderie was stunning to behold. Even in the face of such death and destruction, they supported one another. Stood together, either in tears or in silence, they were one in this moment. 

There were banners strung up in the courtyard, hanging from everywhere they could, they were covered in strips of torn fabric, almost as though they were here to celebrate. And they were, in a way. This was a display of sorrow for the passing of friends and loved ones, but also of happiness that they had lived at all. Once, in the days long past, these banners were to ward off those who wished to pass through the places where the dead might lurk. Now, they were just another tradition, like wearing red had become. But Myrddin remembered, even if no one else did. 

Gwaine, Arthur and Myrddin held off from joining the remembrance of those who had been killed in the battle. Contrary to Alice’s beliefs, they were not thanked for their services. It was as though they were not there at all, and that was as it should be. They stood to one side as their memories were honoured, and as their bodies were burned. Myrddin closed his eyes as Elena, Gaius and Alice joined them. He had seen this sight so many times in his life. He had been the one to perform the last rights for Arturus, for Gawain, even for Morgan, the witch who had helped bring about Arturus’ death. It was all in the past, he knew that, of course, but now, more than ever, in the face of these deaths, in the face of the terror that Uther had wrought, he had to remember all that had gone wrong before. He had to remember and learn from the mistakes he had made. He could not lose Arthur as he had lost Arturus. He couldn’t lose the others, either. 

It was only when he felt someone take and squeeze his hand that he realised that he had been crying. 

“Are you alright?” Arthur asked quietly as the fires blazed and the mourners looked on, as they were bound to until there was nought but ashes. It was the least the dead deserved. 

“Just remembering,” Myrddin murmured, his voice too hoarse for much more than that. 

“Whatever’s coming, we can stop it. Together.” 

And Myrddin believed him. Even if it was only Uther behind it all, he would not stop until he had his revenge. But Myrddin didn’t think so. There was someone else. Someone had given Uther the amulet, and while he believed Uther’s motivation completely, he didn’t think that was all there was to it. 

As they looked on respectfully, Elena spoke quietly of what had happened since she had parted from them. At some point, she had managed to change her clothes to match those gathered in the courtyard. Her wrist was heavily bandaged, but she held no animosity towards Arthur for having broken it. After all, it was on the mend now, thanks to both Gaius and Alice, and she understood why he had done it. It had been to save her life. She’d slap him for it later, when the setting would be more appropriate for such a thing, but for now, she shrugged his apologies off. 

According to Elena, the mindless sorcerers that they had temporarily incapacitated at Uther’s base of operations had been returned to the City Below. She said that they were back to normal again. That, however, was all the good news she had to impart. They had been unable to locate a stone similar to the one that had been in the amulet. There had also been no indication that Uther had returned to his base, nor any indication that he intended to do so in the future. Still, they had placed a watch on the place and performed a thorough sweep to make sure they were leaving no one behind. 

Though Elena hadn’t seen them herself, Elder Vivienne had told her that they had located two mortals. While they could not remember anything that had happened to them, or how they had come to be there, they still retained their memories of who they were and knew one another. That, of course, suited the sorcerers well, and Elder Vivienne had a guard escort them to the world Above. She had them placed under watch, too, in case Uther came back for them, though she thought it unlikely. Even though Elena hadn’t seen them, they could only be Lancelot and Guinevere. Lancelin and Gwenhwyfar, his mind echoed, but he pushed that thought to one side. He couldn’t live in the past. 

“They’ll need to place a watch on your home, too, Arthur,” Gaius said thoughtfully once Elena had finished her account of all that had happened since they had seen her last. 

“What do you mean?” Arthur asked, turning away from the blazing fires that covered the courtyard to look at the doctor. 

“You live with Uther,” said Gaius with a kindly smile, and he seemed about to say something else, but Alice interrupted him. 

“Well, that does settle it. Arthur, as soon as this is over, we’ll take guards to your home, pack your bags and get you ‘round ours. And I shan’t take no for an answer, so don’t bother!” she said, holding up a hand even as Arthur opened his mouth to say exactly that. “Uther is still at large, and until he’s caught, it simply isn’t safe for you to be there alone. Especially not now that he knows you intend to do the right thing.” 

Myrddin had known that Arthur lived with his father, but hearing it said out loud made him frown. It was understandable that he did, of course it was, given that he hadn’t known who his father really was, but that didn’t improve matters now. 

“She’s right,” he said, but Arthur shook his head vehemently. 

“I really can’t,” he protested, “I don’t need to—” 

“Arthur, it is simply too dangerous for you to be on your own at a time like this.” 

“But I can afford a place of my own, I was only staying with father because I didn’t want him to be alone.” 

“I won’t listen to any more argument about this,” Alice said, and that, it seemed, was that. 

“Being on your own would be just as bad as being alone in the house you grew up in,” Gaius said gently, placing a hand on Arthur’s shoulder and squeezing it gently. 

Rather than protest any further, Arthur fell quiet. He went back to watching the fires. 

There were no tears in Arthur’s eyes, but that didn’t surprise Myrddin, somehow. He remembered Arturus who had been taught to be strong and unemotional from birth, who had always struggled to express himself as a result. No, this wasn’t surprising. But while Arthur was different, while he seemed at ease with who he was and with what he felt, Myrddin got the sense that he would shed no tears now, for while he, too, had lost people thanks to all that had happened, he believed that the losses of the sorcerers surrounding him were greater. It seemed to Myrddin that Arthur believed that he had no right to cry in front of them, under the circumstances. Myrddin only wished he could be as controlled. He had won today, in a way, and his vision was still misty. 

Eventually, there was nothing but ash left of the dead and the raised, wooden platforms that they had been placed on. The ashes would be gathered and given to the survivors who could keep them, or scatter them wherever they saw fit. As for Gwaine, Elena, Gaius, Alice, Arthur and Myrddin, it was time to go. 

Contrary to Arthur’s fears, no one had looked at them. No one had really noticed them at all. They were too wrapped up in their own grief, as they should be. 

As they left the courtyard, they encountered a rare thing on this long day of sadness. They had not been the first to leave. Ahead of them, there was an older couple; a man and a woman and their teenaged son, all dressed in red. 

“I think… is that Efrawg, Efrddyl and Lionel?” Gaius asked, squinting so that he could see ahead of them. 

“It’s them,” Gwaine said, stepping away from their little group, as though to go to them, to see that they were alright, when he faltered. 

It became obvious then, that Efrawg, Efrddyl and Lionel had stopped. The reason why showed itself to them in that moment. 

There was movement beyond the family, almost imperceptible in the dim, evening light cast by the street lamps. There stood a man who Myrddin recognised. Great in height and just slightly bruised where he’d been forced to collide face-first with a wall, Percival stood. There was no dull, golden glow about his eyes anymore, and his expression was no longer blank. Instead, his eyes were green, and his face was split with a happiness unlike any other over seeing his family safe again. He ran to them just as Lionel, his younger brother who looked about as fragile as any twig might next to a great oak tree, rushed to meet him and, jumping to reach him, threw his arms about his brother in an embrace. 

Gwaine stood still, watching his returned friend with such joy that Myrddin was surprised he was actually managing to contain himself. 

Myrddin needn’t have worried, really, because Gwaine didn’t contain himself, as it turned out. Not even a bit. 

“Percival!” he shouted out, taking an involuntary step closer and for a moment, everything seemed to stop as green eyes met brown ones for the first time in how long, Myrddin didn’t know. 

Then, movement. Percival released his brother and made short work of the distance between them. What happened next was a shock to everyone but Alice, and that was including Gwaine and Percival. Gwaine had been ready to hug his friend, while Percival somehow ended up cupping Gwaine’s face between his hands. Sweetly, they looked surprised when their lips crushed together in something desperate and confused as words unspoken passed between them. 

Percival’s fingers were tangled in Gwaine’s hair when they parted. 

The page couldn’t speak for once. He looked up at his friend as though completely bowled over. 

His speechlessness didn’t last long, though. 

“How did you—” he began to ask as Percival shrugged, hapless and endearing with all his height and too many muscles, and he really ought to have had some sort of answer, but somehow, he got away with it, for Gwaine was smiling, relieved to have his friend back if a little bit confused by what had just happened between them. 

“Better you’d died than this,” said a voice. 

They glanced about to see Efrddyl, scowling at her son, anger written plainly all over her face. 

“How dare you bring such shame on this family?” 

Percival’s fists clenched as he released Gwaine and stepped in front of him. 

“So, doing Uther’s bidding for months is just fine?” he questioned, voice low, dangerous. 

“Percy, mum’s just stressed, you know, you’ve been missing ages. Mum, tell him—” 

“Lionel, be quiet,” Efrawg said, placing a hand on his youngest son’s shoulder. 

“We’re going home,” said Efrddyl, taking Lionel’s hand and pulling him away from the scene. She gave one last parting shot over her shoulder as she went; “Do not darken our doors again.” 

“I suppose you find intolerance everywhere,” Arthur said quietly as they left. 

Percival glanced over to him, looking a bit lost, but he soon cleared his throat, composing himself as he realised that there were indeed other people here.  

“…aren’t you Uther’s son?” was the first thing he asked. 

Myrddin had to stop himself from putting his face in his hands at the tactfulness of it. 

“Yes,” Arthur said, surprisingly unashamed of the fact. 

“But you were siding with him, I remember—” 

“Just because our parents are the reason we’re here doesn’t mean they’re right, or that we owe them any loyalty,” said Arthur firmly, with enough conviction that Percival paused and glanced over his shoulder at his retreating family. 

“…you’re right,” he said finally. “They’re not. And I don’t.”


	23. Chapter Twenty-Two: The World Above

Chapter Twenty-Two 

The World Above

It felt strange, returning to the world Above in the full knowledge of who and what he really was. Of course, he had always been an immortal warlock and he had always been powerful, but the personality he'd had as Myrddin, the friendships he had forged, the way he had behaved, that, too, was him. He was everything he had ever been and everything that he still was, and honestly, he was struggling to make sense of it all in his own head, but he thought that, with time, he'd become used to it.

Perhaps, he conceded, removing his own memories so that he could start again had not been the best idea that he'd ever had. He'd certainly got what he wanted, but there had been a cost. He shouldn't have assumed that the Elders would be able to cope without him, and he could not help but blame himself for all that had happened since their 'Ancient One' had gone missing. He had behaved selfishly and the consequences of his actions had been suffered by others. What made things even worse was that he was still being selfish in that he could only feel relief that the people he had come to care for were unharmed.

It felt odd to be the one who took Arthur's hand just before they travelled. It felt strange to be the one who pulled him along through the ether and up to the world Above. He had done it for himself countless times in his long life, but now, to share it with someone else felt quite peculiar. Even more strange was the feeling that came with finally being in control of his own travels again.

With the funerals over, and the altercation with Percival's family done with, Alice declared that they were all going to come along to the cottage for a mix of tea, cake, and lying low. Arthur would be living with them anyway, so of course he was coming along, but she wanted the rest of them there, too.

Tentative and more shy than Myrddin had ever seen him, Gwaine had taken Percival's hand, their fingers loosely interlocked. In a whirl of white smoke, they vanished. Alice gave Myrddin the tiniest wink, then took Elena and Gaius' hands in hers. They disappeared, too.

"…I suppose you know what you're doing with all of this now?" Arthur asked, glancing over at Myrddin, and there was something there in his face. Something like a challenge, something that he could only identify as a taunt.

"I don't know, I might be forgetting something," Myrddin said, eyes narrowing almost playfully. He held out his hand, fingers stretched out, palm upwards in an offer to Arthur. "Are you willing to gamble an arm or leg that I'll not get us stuck in a wall? Or maybe halfway through the floor?" he teased, smiling when the blond laughed at him.

Arthur made a show of being tentative about reaching out for Myrddin's hand, hovering it just above the warlock's before drawing it away again.

"I don't know… that would be putting an awful lot of trust in you," he said.

"It would," Myrddin agreed, "I mean, if I get just one little thing wrong, it could even mean your hair."

He won in that moment when the tiniest twinge of worry passed over Arthur's face and Myrddin took the opportunity to step close to him, to take his hands and pull him in for a slow, gentle kiss that was something of a celebration, however small.

Myrddin's eyes closed as Arthur's arms draped about his shoulders to bring him closer still, and he fought to make the cottage the centre of his thoughts. Really, though, he could hardly help it, given the situation, that thoughts of Arthur kept getting in the way.

It was no surprise, really, that when the pull of magic had left them, they opened their eyes to find themselves in the guest bedroom they had shared. That Myrddin had been aiming to arrive outside was apparently beside the point where his magic was concerned.

Myrddin's immediate reaction was to go very red in the face and take a step away from Arthur who simply stood there, laughing at him as though this were something terribly funny.

He cleared his throat, knowing full well that the redness had spread to the tips of his ears, but Arthur was still chuckling away at him, apparently as unable to help it in the first place as he was to stop it.

"It's not funny!" he protested when Arthur finally collapsed onto the brass bed, wiping the tears from his eyes.

He had definitely lost this one.

"It is a bit, you have to admit," he said, and the smile on his face, the simple joy in it was irresistible enough that Myrddin huffed and went to join him, plonking down gracelessly beside him.

"I think you're looking a bit thinner up top than you were before we left," he said, a little bit impish, peering up at Arthur's hair that was as perfect as it had been when they left.

Arthur scoffed.

"At least you didn't manage to leave my left foot in a doorway or something," he said, pushing a hand through his hair casually. Myrddin was fairly certain that he was checking it was all there, but chose not to comment.

"Well, that wouldn't happen with me, anyway. The way my magic works," he said, leaning back slightly and looking up at the ceiling thoughtfully, "Well, it's different to the way others experience it. Gwaine, Elena, even Percival, I expect, they all have to manipulate magic and use tricks and processes to make it work, but me… I am my magic. My magic's me. It's a part of me, not some external force. It acts on my behalf and achieves everything I need it to. It would never hurt you because… I couldn't."

"And your magic thought we'd be best off in a bedroom, did it? That's a line if ever I heard one," Arthur said.

Myrddin felt the tips of his ears go red again as Arthur managed to win once more.

"Obviously, I just wanted to see you home safely," he said after a moment had passed.

Arthur's grin grew wider, as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing, then it disappeared altogether.

"That's right," the blond murmured, quiet. "This is home now."

Myrddin reached to take his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"I'm happy that you've got them in your life, you know," he said of Gaius and Alice.

"What will you do now?" Arthur asked him, seemingly wanting to change the subject from the events that had led him here.

And wasn't that the question? What would he do?

With a sigh, he shifted until he lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling in thought.

"I don't know, really," he said. "I can't leave you, not now. We're going to need each other now to get through whatever it is that's coming. We need to find Morgana, and her brother, and we need to find Uther, but… honestly, I don't think I could leave you even if none of that were the case."

There was movement as the blond took a moment to lie beside him atop of the bed's patchwork quilt.

"I don't think things will be the way they used to be. I don't think I'd cope if I had to go back to the way things used to be for me. It was so… lonely," he finally settled on, looking away from Arthur, "That I sometimes forgot I was a person at all. I can't cope with that again, not now that I know what it's like to be someone again."

He could feel Arthur's eyes on him as he spoke.

"I lived alone before, and I could do it again. I'm not saying I couldn't do that. I've got enough money for it, I mean, it's amazing how much you can gather as time passes you by," he murmured. "I could live alone, but… I can't sustain that level of isolation, not now I know better. I could get another house somewhere, and I could… well, I kind of want to integrate back into society, if I can. I've spent so long watching from the outside that I'd quite like to be involved again."

He had been given a chance at life again that he was going to take, and even with the guilt that he carried now, he wouldn't change his actions. He only had to look at the people he had found to know that he would give them up for nothing.

"But you'd be lonely, wouldn't you?" Arthur asked him, "If you lived alone?"

"Living alone's not the same as being lonely. You would all know where to find me, and I'd know where to find you. I'd not be solitary anymore."

"…that's not good enough, Myrddin," Arthur said simply. "You'd still be on the outside, you'd still be apart from us. Look, I… I hate to say this, but Percival will probably be looking for somewhere to live now, with his family like that, and with—" he faltered for a moment, and Myrddin glanced over at him to see he was alright. "—with what father did, he'll have nowhere to go either. Maybe you could talk to him and find somewhere together. A flat share or something. He seems like a good man, and at least he'll keep Gwaine in check."

Myrddin found himself grinning.

"You aren't still jealous of Gwaine, are you?" he asked.

"I am not jealous," Arthur protested, and it was his turn to flush at Myrddin's laughter.

"But you were a little bit when we met him, weren't you?" he asked, grinning at the face the blond pulled.

"He was talking about getting you naked, Myrddin. Of course I didn't like him."

"So you decided to beat him to it?"

"Right!"

There was a beat of silence, then hysterical laughter from the warlock as Arthur appeared to realise just what it was that he had admitted to.

"Stop it," he said, but Myrddin couldn't help himself, shaking his head as he fought for breath between giggles.

"They'll hear us!" Arthur protested, but still, Myrddin couldn't stop.

There came voices from outside the bedroom, down in the foyer. Then, there was the sound of footsteps as someone climbed the stairs, and Gwaine's voice could be heard calling their names, asking if they were alright, or if they'd managed to get themselves stuck in between the walls.

Arthur did the one and only reasonable thing that he could be expected to do, and that was to clamp his hand over Myrddin's mouth and all but command him to hush.

Myrddin sobered up some at that as their eyes met and Gwaine could be heard trudging back downstairs, telling the others that he didn't think they had made it back yet after all.

He kissed Arthur's palm, cheeky and grinning when the blond took his hand away, glaring playfully at him for his insolence.

"Laugh again and I'll really give you something to giggle about, old man."

Myrddin had opened his mouth to protest that he wasn't old, but thought better of discussing technicalities at a time like this.

"Sounds like a promise to me," he said instead, and it was the blond's turn to grin.

"It might be. Shame we can't be long, though, not when they'll all be wondering where their dear little Myrddin's gone to."

"It's Merlin," he said then, not sure why he wanted Arthur to know, but it felt important somehow.

"What's Merlin got to do with it?" Arthur asked, confused.

"Merlin's me."

"No, you're Myrddin," Arthur insisted, as it was the only thing he knew as a matter of certainty, really. It was his only constant, and Myrddin felt suddenly terrible for taking it away from him.

"Well… I mean, yes, and no. I am Myrddin now. Myrddin is who I've become and who I'll stay, but when I was born, my mother named me Merlin."

"Like the wizard?"

"Yes, exactly!" said Myrddin excitedly, but then stopped and frowned. "Wait, what do you mean?"

"You mean your mother named you for a character in Arthurian legend, don't you?" Arthur asked, "I mean, father used to swear blind that we were direct descendants of the great King Arthur. It's tradition in our family, once every few generations, to name the children like… well, like me," he said, frowning at Myrddin, "He always told me that Merlin, the wizard, that he was responsible for the King's death, and that's the reason why our family's not, well… why we're not still in power today? I always thought it was a story, but—"

"I didn't kill him," Myrddin said, quiet. "It was Medrod. I did everything I could to save Arturus, and no, I wasn't named for a legend."

He looked away from Arthur who was trying to piece Myrddin in with the stories he had been told as a child, obviously wondering now whether or not it was all true.

So. Arthur was one of Arturus' descendants. That explained his return. It had been a mixture of magic and his bloodline that had ensured it. It all made sense to Myrddin now, as he looked back to him. It explained the striking resemblance, too.

"Arturus sustained a wound on the battlefield, and he died. I couldn't help him. All I could do was lay him to rest and know… and know that one day, he would return."

He focused his gaze on the other man for long enough that Arthur seemed to catch on to what he was saying.

"You're joking," said Arthur.

"I'm not," Myrddin said. "Arthur, whatever's coming, I need you. You are here because of a magic more ancient than the earth itself. It's all you, Arthur. It's you who will save everyone. We need you."

The world needed him. Perhaps, finally, the golden age would come.

He didn't know why he was needed, not yet. But he knew that, unless the world were in true peril that could not be overcome in any other way, Arthur would not be here. Myrddin would not have found him. But he was and he had. Fate had seen them come together, and Myrddin's years spent waiting for Arturus were through.

And whatever it was that waited in the shadows, it was plain to see that Arthur's father was mixed up in it all. But this was bigger than him, it was bigger than familial ties, and if Arthur was to overcome it and do whatever it was that would need to be done, he would need Myrddin to help him.

Arthur opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by a knock at the bedroom door.

"Yes?" the blond managed to call out, his voice something of a croak.

"Tea's ready, boys," came Alice's voice from behind the door. She sounded as though she were amused by something, though what that was about, she didn't say. "Gaius made a pot, and I've found some cake in the tin that's fresh enough. Are you coming down?"

"We'll be down now," Myrddin called back and stood, reaching down to help Arthur up.

Arthur didn't hesitate to take Myrddin's hand and, together, they left the room.


	24. Epilogue

Epilogue

Outside, in the dark beyond the cottage with its cheerful, flickering lights, there stood a figure.

Shapeless, nameless, and swathed in black, it stood out of sight, watching in silence.

The night was peaceful as the rain began to patter down, drumming against the thatched roof and thudding in splatters against the garish, pink car that was parked on the gravel drive. Laughter could be heard from inside the cottage. It drifted out happily enough, and dulled by the rain, the casual passerby might never know the terrors that those within had suffered.

But the watcher knew.

The Ancient One had foiled its plans this time, but it was not finished yet. It still had Uther, and the children of the Elders were in its power.

All it had to do was to neutralise the Ancient One. If it could do that, it would all be over.

But for now, it would let them think that the threat was gone.

It would let him get his guard down, and then, it would strike.

For now, it turned and walked away, its footsteps silent against the sodden pavement for but a moment before it vanished. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's over! I began this story on 1st November 2015, and today, 17th January 2016, marks its end! 
> 
> I understand that you may have questions, but I do hope that you'll understand if you've not had the answers to them!
> 
> I'm happy to announce that there's a good reason for it which is that I'm planning a sequel to this story! It won't be for a little while yet, but I have most definitely got plans for Myrddin, Arthur and company! 
> 
> Their story is not over yet, even though this one is. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has read this and kept up with my sporadic updates when life got hectic. 
> 
> There were a few times when I didn't think I would finish, and then I'd get a lovely comment that would make me carry on, so thank you! 
> 
> See you all next time! :) 
> 
> likeasheep x


	25. Myrddin Wyllt and the Staff of Merlin

Thanks to everyone for their support of Wyllt while I was writing it and in the year and a bit that's followed! It's November 2017 which can only mean one thing... time for the sequel! 

I had planned to write this last year, but real life does get in the way, so here I am, ready to go again. The sequel won't be posted next to this but will be posted as a new fanfic in its own right. :) Keep an eye on my author page for it, should be starting in the next day or two! 

likeasheep x


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